It Tolls for Thee

Sorry that every post is about the marathon... that's probably getting old for you, right? But I just keep processing things and I forgot to tell you about probably my favorite part of the race:

The marathon starts near the Metrodome in Downtown Minneapolis and cuts through the heart of a skyscraper district before turning down Hennepin towards the Chain of Lakes and South Minneapolis.  At the very edge of Downtown is a big, beautiful basilica.  The Basilica of Saint Mary, to be precise. 



As we head through downtown, the air is cold, the pack of runners nearly silent as the anticipation and silliness of the start wears off and we begin to truly consider the monumental task ahead of us. The only sound is the gentle tap tap tap tap tap of running shoes on pavement and the muffled sound of motivational playlists in runners' ears.

Approaching the basilica, between Miles 1 and 2, the air fills with a beautiful noise-- the church bells! The bells are ringing for the runners! The congregation-- what must have been hundreds of people-- are standing on the beautiful stone steps praying and waving out to the crowd of marathoners. 

I am not religious in the "capital R" sense, but that moment filled me with a certain faith, and a faith in what I think religion should be about-- supporting our community, supporting all mankind in every earnest endeavor. Being hopeful for one another, friend and stranger alike. It was emotional then; it's emotional now.

It also reminded me of a poem I once heard at an event to raise awareness about bullying and teen suicide last year.  The poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls (No Man is an Island) by John Donne, beautifully reminds me how connected we all are.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

A Reflection on 72 Hours of Wilderness

I have been attempting to compose, organize, and draft my thoughts on my recent trip to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCA) for several days now, but it is much harder than I thought.  Perhaps, much like the photos I captured while there, my storytelling can't really do that part of the world the justice it deserves. 

I thought about giving you the play by play-- detailing each lake, each portage, each mosquito-infested campsite, and relaying the horrors that are northwoods latrines. 

But it still didn't seem big enough.

So what I came up with is quite a bit simpler, a little more abstract.

To be in a wilderness so dense and unspoilt is an incredibly humbling experience. The moment the paddle shatters the reflected forest on the surface of the cool, clean lake I had to involuntarily surrender control to my environment. The weather, downed trees, nosy wildlife; they all have the ability to overpower the skills I bring with me.  There is only a small smattering of people, scattered few and far between, and travelers can't count on seeing anyone.  You certainly can't count on anyone having a working communication device. 

Those things in mind, I think it is a space that redefines 'trouble.'  To be in trouble here at home (flat tire, late bus, broken appliance, and so on) is really to be inconvenienced.  To be in trouble in the BWCA is to be in trouble.

To be in the BWCA is also empowering.  There is that beautiful feeling of chasing (and then catching!) an experience many people don't get to have.  It is a place ripe for accomplishing many things, from the simple breakfast cooked over a camp stove to the 232 rod portage.  It fosters a great sense of independence and self-reliance.  At the same time, it makes one put a lot of trust in the person they travel with-- trust that that person will have your best interests and safety in mind, trust that that person will communicate, trust that that person will not get (too) frustrated. 

I think I may have said this about rural North Dakota too, but if there is such thing as 'God's Country,' the BWCA is it.  I cannot think of many places that I have been to that inspired me with a sunrise, amazed me  and challenged throughout the day, instilled great fear and respect for my surroundings in me as the sunset washed the world in a purple shadow, and then gently rocked me to sleep with the most stars I have ever seen in one night and the gentle lullabye of wilderness in the nighttime. 

My words, like photos that just look like water, trees, and sky, do not begin to really describe this magnificent place.

On the Plains of North Dakota

Beautiful? Sure.  For a little bit.

By hour 8 on Interstate 94, headed westward through North Dakota from Minneapolis, this view gets a little old.  In fact, by the 8th hour in the car you have run out of stories for your road trip teammates to catch up on your hectic summer life.  You have already passed the giant bison in Jamestown:

and the world's largest holstein cow in New Salem (I don't know those people):



Apparently, this cow's name is Salem Sue.  Thanks, Google!

The land, while beautiful, is so empty that even your game of "those are my cows" has fizzled.  There simply are no cows to claim.  As the car travels west, the soft, flat landscape of the Dakota plains begins to give rise to a few rocky bursts as we hit the very earliest signs of the North Dakota Badlands and one road trip teammate cracks an "I like big buttes" joke that gets far more laughter than it deserves. Everything is funny during the 8th hour.

The road is flooded about 50 miles out of Dickinson, ND (our final destination) and everyone slows to a painful 45 miles per hour after sailing across the state at 80 or 85.  Passengers are overwhelmed by the feeling that we never want to be in a car again. For the rest of our lives. 

Phone calls and texts from Dickinson start coming in with less than an hour to go: "We're all checked in, can't wait to see you guys!" "Are you close?" "Will you pick up at least one case of beer?" "I think the groom's dinner includes free beer and wine." These messages feel like twinkling lights on the horizon-- we will make it and it will be good.

And it was good.  In truth, as boring as the drive can be at times, you cannot at some point be overwhelmed by the beauty and serenity of huge plots of land that remain virtually untouched.  It made me think, If there is such thing as 'God's country,' this truly must be it. And there is a charm to small towns that cannot be matched by the excitement and glamour of bustling cities.  Residents and strangers alike are all old friends, and life moves at a pace that allows one to truly enjoy a lively conversation over a hot breakfast and the summer breeze caught in the veil of a new bride.

Though a thousand-mile-round-trip-in-the-span-of-72-hours mini-vacation wasn't always riveting, the truth is I would have traveled much further and much longer to celebrate the wedding of dear friends, who now embark on a far greater journey of love, partnership, and compromise. 

May they continue to laugh at one another's 'big butte' jokes and not take every opportunity to kill the other's cows with each passing cemetery.

25 Things of Importance from My 25th Year

I kicked off the 25th year by going to the Red Bull Flugtag in Saint Paul.  Grown adults, about 6-8 per team, build falling flying machines and throw them into fly them over the Mississippi river.  Very fantastic way to celebrate one's birthday!

Brewhouse Triathlon in Duluth, MN.  This trip also included my first time swimming in Lake Superior and a chance to see the beautiful tall ships in a special event in the Duluth Harbor. 

The Muddy Buddy Race, where I learned that ski slopes are for skiing and mountain bikes are heavy.

A pop/rock concert with my grandma at the Target Center (American Idol on Tour).

Two lovely camping trips to the North Shore with two lovely friends, one of which who has a gift for cooking over a fire.

A trip to our nation's capitol, which I think should be called the City of Learning.  You cannot possibly be seeing Washington, DC right if you do not learn something.  Also got to see an exhibit by one of my favorite contemporary American artists, Chuck Close.

Defended my Masters thesis on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

(So I am using my calendar to make sure I don't miss any important events) I wrote "Christmas Tree Extravaganza" on a weekend in December and at first couldn't figure out what on earth that meant.  But then I remembered: it means even as an adult, there is something very safe and a bit magical about getting to go to the home where you grew up, even if it is only 15 miles from your current home.

Right away into the new year I met someone who weekly reminds me to 'chill out,' taught me to play frisbee golf, also has good taste in beer, tells wonderful stories from around the world, routinely emails me "must hear this" music, and provides a lot of perspective when things feel chaotic.

The ladies of the family took a clay tiles class.  The lesson? Canvas and paint just makes more sense to me, but I did walk away with at least one awesome coaster and a cool trivet.

Had an article I wrote about going to ASA Fastpitch Nationals as a young teenager published in the ASA Softball magazine.

Weekend trip to Fort Myers, Florida to watch Twins Spring Training, hang out with two fabulous ladies, and eat delicious seafood at quirky restaurants.

Moved into my first "on my own" apartment in a quiet Saint Paul neighborhood.  Quickly discovered how expensive that is. 

Celebrated Mom's first 5K finish at the Get in Gear 5K at Minnehaha Park!

Toured local brewery, Surly, and fell in love with their story (I was already in love with the beer).

Bought a kitty.  Rescued a kitty.  I already can't remember what my home was like before he walked under my feet, meowed constantly, and left little bits of shredded [fill in with: paper, cardboard, styrofoam, flowers, spider plant]. 

Celebrated the graduation of 2 lawyers, a dentist, and a physical therapist.  My friends are freakishly smart.

Traveled to Decorah, IA for good beer and a lot of potato salad, good friends, a trombone quartet in a farm garage (as deer ran across the field- no kidding!), and 5 people in a tent.  Oh, and a dog the size of a horse. 

A long and trying few weeks responding to the North Minneapolis Tornado.  Today, I am proud to have been a small piece of the puzzle that helped bring the needed resources to those affected and hopefully in the coming months we will see a stronger Northside. 

Personal best time at the Buffalo Triathlon. Thank you, less hilly bike course!

Hung my first art show at the Minneapolis Skyway Senior Center.  Apparently drew a lot of opinions from some of Minneapolis's most experienced citizens...

Went to several Twins games (finally seeing Target Field) but the highlight had to be watching one from a suite.  Nothing makes me a fan like free food and cushy seats.

Enjoyed the Ordway's production of "Guys and Dolls" with Mom and Kim for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.

Accepted and sponsored to present my work at a national summit in Atlanta, GA.

Started selling artwork on Etsy.  Sold 2 so far, although only to people I know...

It's been a good year.  I am feeling ready to head into the next quarter century!

"Those cows are mine," the horse dog, 4 trombones, and other tales from south of the border

I know this is oh-so-late.  Forgive me. 

In the midst of a very emotionally and physically trying few weeks at work, I was granted my Memorial Day weekend and traveled to Decorah, Iowa.  I had previously only been to Iowa once and my experience can be summed up as: sludge in the hotel pool, stale donut for breakfast, an airplane engine for an air condition, and Ft. Madison prison.  Other than this trip, my ideas about Iowa came mostly from pop culture references such as:

This I like because, even though I don't know these guys, they are demonstrating an important fact about Iowa-- the highest elevation in the state is in a corn field. 

So, against my best judgment, I let myself be carted across the border on a sunny Friday afternoon, headed to Iowa.  Decorah, specifically, a place where 80 percent of the homes have gnomes in their yards or windows and no fewer than half the flagpoles fly the banners of Sweden or Norway, is an incredibly peaceful respite from the hustle of the Twin Cities. 

On the way, Aaron taught me a car game that I feel is perfect for driving through the heart of the Midwest: Those Cows Are Mine.  The rules are simple-- if you see a herd or small grouping of cows, you simply exclaim to all other people in the car, "Those cows are mine."  There is no counting of cows or herds; there is no score.  And if you see a cemetery, you want to be the first person to unleash havoc on everyone else's cow collecting by declaring, "Your cows are dead."  In all fairness, the passenger has a clear, insurmountable advantage in that they can look far and wide for the most hidden heard of cows to quickly claim as their own. 

Once I had claimed all of the Minnesota-Iowa cows I could, we arrived in Decorah and drove straight to Luther College, Aaron's undergraduate institution of learning and tromboning and other things uniquely college/young 20's.  The self-guided tour included the following distinct features of Luther College: The CFL, where music is played on a grand stage for a packed house; the Union; the library, including a Japanese rock garden under the stairs and a visit to the study corral Aaron used to do much of his research and writing; the library lawn; the music practice rooms; the art building; the science building; the gym where an infamous "Hard Body Plan" once took place; and various other significant buildings, landmarks, and lawns.

Decorah has a certain magnetic pull that seems to be an especially strong force on young men with large brass instruments in their trunks.  We met up with two of Aaron's closest friends from college (as well as the joyous fiancee of one of them), who also are accomplished trombone players (trombonists? tromboners? I am not sure...).  One of the best parts of the trip was driving down some rural roads just outside Decorah, 5 young adults in a powder blue Prius, sunburnt and relaxed after a day of site-seeing and frisbee golfing, to a small white farmhouse.  We pulled in to see four chairs and four music stands pre-arranged for the evening festivities-- a concert by a garage band, if garage band means impromptu trombone quartet.  It was an incredibly soothing experience for me, having just come from a city literally torn apart by disaster, to laze in a chair in the middle of the country and listen to four gentlemen make music and shoot the breeze.  It is here that we also met the horse dog, Magne.  Magne is a giant black Great Dane with the running gait of a fish out of water and sweet, sweet eyes.  While Magne is Norwegian for "fierce warrior," I would describe him as a pretty gentle giant. 

I am realizing this post is starting to get long, and probably isn't very cohesive... I apologize, but it is hard to weave into my own experience each of the stories shared by the young men about what the people and places in Decorah mean to them and this very strong kinship between them and this sort of fairytale place.  Every story has this fantastical, larger-than-life quality that makes you fall in love with all the characters.  I can say, hopefully with great clarity, that it is always wonderful to be welcomed into a group of close friends nearly immediately and with such warmth.  So much so, in fact, that sleeping 5 across in a 4 person tent is only crowded, but never awkward.

A Literal Boatload of Lawyers

I am sure you have been checking back on my blog every day for the last nearly-month and imagined all the wondrous and amazing things that were keeping me away from the keyboard.  Did you think mountain climbing? Drinking sangria in the south of Spain? Breaking the world record in Olympic hurdles?

Well, you were close. But even more fabulous than all those things, I have been attending fresh-lawyer parties*!

Ingredients for a Fresh-Lawyer Party

8-60 Fresh Lawyers**

1-5 Unsuspecting Victims Girlfriends

54 High Fives

5 Discussions about Bar Prep Courses

22 Toasts boasting "Dude! We're done!"

Alcohol in quantities unmeasurable

Optional Ingredients

Paddleboat

A Sidewalk chalk drawing of Martin Van Buren

A deck of cards with, um... 'clothing optional' ladies

A half-naked Wisconsinite fresh-lawyer arguing the constitutionality of the Amish
Mashed potatoes served in a martini glass***

Throw all that in your martini shaker, add a dash of admiralty law, and top of your Martini Glass Mash with some broccoli and you are ready to... party! talk about the law.  Well, maybe it is more accurately a mix of both and it is surprisingly fun in a way only fresh-lawyer parties can be.  In fact, in legal speak, I could not be unaware of the amount of fun I had at all these parties that kept me from you.

Also, there is a lesser-known benefit of being a semi-regular attendee of fresh-lawyer parties: you yourself can win your very own fresh-lawyer!

*A "fresh-lawyer" is an individual who has just completed three grueling years of law school and has had (or is about to have) the degree of Juris Doctor conferred upon them.  They are easy to spot in the wild, as they often refer to themselves as "Dr. Talking About Myself in the Third Person." 

** A ripe fresh-lawyer is pale in color (from weeks in the library) and slightly soft when squeezed (grad school is rough on anyone's diet).  
*** I am serious.  And these were professional caterers that served a mashed potato bar in martini glasses.  And perhaps rightfully so.  What else says "legal professional" like a plastic martini glass overflowing with mashed potatoes and broccoli cheese topping? Nothing, that's what. 

One (or One Hundred) Day(s) At a Time

I love the feeling I get when I am anticipating something.  At first I hated admitting that because, reading between the lines I thought it really said "I am always waiting for something better."  But I don't think that's true.  I genuinely enjoy the little shiver of excitement that runs up my spine and makes my shoulders quiver and hearing my voice get an octave higher and my speech adopt a hurried cadence when I talk about all the things I am looking forward to. 

There is no better way to build anticipation than a solid, reliable countdown.  Lately, there has been so much going on, I have had several things to be excited about at once (this is lovely).  I was struggling, however, with knowing how excited I could/should be in general and, in turn, how excited I could/should be about a single event.  So I invented the Master Countdown! It. Is. Awesome.*

2 days until I join Mom on her very first 5K run (which will go fabulous, so stop worrying, Mom)

2 days until Minneapolis Outdoor Farmers Markets open (and I think St. Paul too!) I love farmers markets.  I love the fresh produce, I can't wait to buy big beautiful boquets of flowers for 5 dollars, I long for a delicious cup of coffee and a full bag of potatoes with bits of the earth still clinging to their rounded edges. 

3 days to getting keys to independence my new apartment.

9 days until I move into my new place (and then get to go on a Surly Brewery Tour!)

15 days until the only dentist I will ever like gets her degree.  It has been fun to be a friend and roommate to her while she has worked so diligently at a dream she first had when she was no more than 8 years old.

17 days until my longest time friend finishes her law degree.  This will (hopefully) be a sweet sweet finish to a very arduous but well-fought journey for this girl.  She deserves to be so very proud of herself.

19 days until the Twin Cities American Red Cross Heroes Award.  I love almost everything about the Red Cross: blood donation, disaster relief, lifesaving skills education.  All of it.  Also, getting to work there for 6 months was incredible.  So, anytime I can support them, I will.  All the sweeter that last year my very own dad won the Community Hero award.

22 days until this guy that I am kind of dating head over heels for finishes his law degree. Thankfully this will not be the end of discussions on the CISG.**  Phew!

29 days until I make a willing trip to visit the state of Iowa?! I know...

39 days until my 3rd running of the Buffalo Triathlon.  Year 1 I was panicked/frightened.  Year 2 I was unprepared and overwhelmed in life in general.  Year 3? So ready, baby.

59 days until Mom, Kim, and I see Guys and Dolls at the Ordway for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.  PS: I think the seats we got are awesome.  And thus the daughter/kid sister that picked them is probably also awesome... just sayin'.

88 days until I officially hit the quarter-century mark.  So far, my 25th year has been challenging/beautiful/busy/expensive.

94 days until a great college friend's wedding to a beautiful young woman.  What I can't figure out is why, if he lives in Medford, Oregon, he is getting married in Dickinson, North Dakota.  It makes no sense to me.

157 days until I die trying to run a marathon.  I am running (?) the 30th annual Twin Cities Marathon.  You should come cheer me on.  I would plan on cheering someplace between the Start and Mile 10... I don't know if I will make it any further than that.


*And of course, it is outdated by tomorrow. 
**Convention of International Sale of Goods.  Or maybe the Convention on the Contracts of International Sale of Goods? Well, no... that would be the CCISG or the hipper C2ISG (or even 2CISG).

Reverb 11: April

What's blossoming?

It's hard to think of anything blossoming in the literal sense while Minnesota impatiently awaits Spring's arrival (for example, I had to use an ice scraper this morning. In April. Unreal).

But many other things are blossoming this time of year and I have been awaiting them with as much anticipation as the warmer sun, breezy skies, and vivid landscapes of earth painted by the blooming perennials. 

Blossoming independence.  Figuring life out after grad school isn't always pleasant, and having a temporary, grant-funded position without benefits doesn't exactly help one feel any more secure in their future.  Instead, I made like a barnacle and affixed to anything and anyone I could.  Including my sister's basement, where I have been living at a reduced cost since August.  It's been good, really.  I've saved some cash, figured out my tops from bottoms, successfully navigated the student loan repayment system, and so on.  So on May 7, I am stretching my independence stride a little further and I am moving into my own apartment (you may or may not have noticed the theme of recent blog posts being somewhat entirely about said new place).  It's nothing terribly fancy, but it has that wonderful 'old, renovated building' charm.  It's small (perhaps tiny) at 500 square feet, but those will be my 500 square feet. With my stuff. And probably by May 10, my huge mess.  But! I don't have to feel guilty about my mess in my space.  Lovely. With this will come some other independences I have been meaning to do for a while, like no longer claiming my childhood home as my permanent address. 

I believe the phrase my dad used on the phone during a conversation was "putting on my big girl panties."

Blossoming opportunities.  When my current position was extended in December, I was told that the duration of the job was limited by the available funds.  This never means: "If we spend wisely we might be able to keep you for a long time."  It always means: "Every penny not spent by or on July 31 is returned to the funder and your position ceases to exist.  Forever.  Without opportunity for resurrection.  We'd love to keep you but cannot, please do not let the door hit you on the way out."  So, I was quite positive that August would find me unemployed and unable to find work and thus all of the effort I had put into my blossoming independence (see above) would fail to matter and I would once again be stalled.  But it turns out tomorrow I have a job interview with a metro county and my boss is feverishly working to see if a position can be created in our current department.  Whoa.  Now, realistically I might not be the right candidate for either position, but at least I know there is some hope. 

Blossoming creativity.  In case working, looking for new jobs, and moving weren't quite enough for me, I am also hanging my first art show in June at the UCare Minneapolis Skyway Senior Center.  So, I have been/will be working at a semi-frantic pace to complete as many paintings as possible before then which means I have had to creative with subject matter. I simply cannot hang 12 Spoonbridge and Cherry paintings in one show...

Blossoming drive and athleticism.  This is one of those tempermental blooms that are so hard to tend to.  Too much water? Unhealthy yellowing of the leaves. Not enough sun? Wilty. But while I had neglected my duties to hammer out some miles for a couple of weeks, I am back on track (I think) and the goals I have set for myself seem challenging, but potentially obtainable.  It's a tough balance to find the time to work out, and it is especially hard to tell someone that you can't make plans or have to make abbreviated plans in order to fit in a workout.  To me, it sounds like I am telling them that 45 minutes by myself on a dreadmill is more important, which isn't the case at all.  It's a means to an end, and really, that end is pretty important to me.  Whether or not it is a marathon (although I think it still is), I still have triathlons and other races to participate in and I want to do so knowing I gave the preparation everything I had.

Blossoming romance relationship whatever it is you call that feeling when someone gives you the butterflies all the time and you like to talk to them about matters of absolutely no consequence just because it's fun and you miss them when they're gone, but you're sort of over impressing them but not because you don't want to but because you're finally pretty comfortable that this is something good.  Yeah, whatever that is called, it's good.

Reverb 11: March

If March 2011 was your last month to live, how would you live it?

Honestly, if I only had 31 days to live I would not continue life as normal.  I love my job, but that's probably the first thing that would change.  And I would probably stop caring about what I ate on a daily basis.  Bring on the ice cream sundaes, the ball park hot dogs, tacos every night, and cupcakes for breakfast.  I would probably move back to my parents' house. 

But on the other hand, some things would stay the same.  In fact, many of the things I have already done in March (or am planning on doing) would fit right in line with my wishes for my last 31 days. 

I would take a vacation with my best friends and take in stories of their aspirations for their future and laugh as we compare those to the lofty dreams we had for ourselves when we first met as teenage girls. 

I would spend time laughing with my family and loving them up in any way I knew how. 

I would attend events that I enjoy and that have significance to my friends or family.  I would celebrate the accomplishments of those around me without jealousy or competition.

I would play ball with the dogs in my life. 

I would not fold my socks.

I would paint.  I would paint often.  I would paint big things and small things.  I would paint yellow things and blue things. 

I would eat Mom's classic chili.

I would love and be loved, and I can think of no better way to spend my final 31 days. 

Spring Training 2011 and why the months of April (and maybe May and June), September, and October are going to be difficult

Hockey pre-season starts in September and regular season goes through April.  Play-offs and the Stanley Cup championships go all the way until the 2nd week of June.  

This makes it nearly impossible to also be a fan of a sport in which the pre-season starts late February and regular season starts in April (this covers the most critical period of hockey's regular season).  Further, post-season play could end up stretching into October, overlapping with hockey's earliest drops of the pucks.   

And, after all, I do live in the State of Hockey.  Not the State of Baseball.

But something makes me think I might slowly be turning a corner, and I may have to be a two-sport fanatic.  I am sure it has nothing to do with 4 beautiful days in Ft. Myers, FL, attending my first outdoor professional baseball games, third row tickets, ballpark hot dogs, fabulous company, or the awesomeness that is: a foam finger.  

Maybe I'm Too Busy to Title This One

Burning the candle at both ends?  Not really.

Strapping the candle to a firecracker and exploding it into a million sparkling bits that rain to the ground in a spectrum of brilliant colors?  Yep.

So maybe I am up at 5am and to bed at 11pm some nights.  Maybe it sometimes takes 2 big cups of (sinfully delicious omigodiloveyou) coffee for me to reach baseline function in the morning.  Maybe I spend my train ride home trying to architect a night that uses every minute perfectly.

Maybe tonight I mistakenly thought a peanut butter sandwich would fuel me through 20 minutes of silly playtime with a yellow dog, a devilish carving session in the clay studio, and a 3 mile run.  Maybe I put my running pants on backwards and didn't notice until mile 2.  Maybe I forgot headphones.  And my gym card. And to check the mail.

But maybe, just maybe, last week I turned a corner in my marathon training and I am finally feeling confident that I will cross that finish line in October. And maybe today I was invited to showcase my artwork in June and I found just a moment to call Mom and Dad (between clay and backwards-pants running) to share that news.  And maybe in all the driving around I was able to sing to Florence and the Machine's The Dog Days Are Over at the very top of my lungs and even squeeze in a little dance at a stoplight.  And maybe in between all of this running around I managed to convince another person that I am interesting and worth a goodnight phone call.

Maybe I am vaporizing the fabled candle before I can even think about lighting it.

That's maybe definitely okay.  Life is definitely extremely good.

I Don't Save the Animals (or Grocery Shop) but I Do Watch Professional Sports

I wish I could give you some sexy reason for why I have been so terribly MIA from blogging in the last 2 weeks.

Was I saving baby pandas in the bamboo forests of China?  No, I was not.

Was I huddled in a vividly colored tent at a base camp on my way to the peak of Mt. Everest? No, I was not.

Was I lost a sea for days, drifting under a harsh sun on a slowly deflating life raft after a diving trip gone wrong?  No, I was not.

Was I here, in Minneapolis, having several local adventures (of a less dangerous variety)? Why, yes I was.

Did I enjoy a beautifully crafted fancy cocktail at Prohibition, the bar atop the historic Foshay Tower?  Yes I did.

Did I know Minnesota still had a professional basketball team? No, not really... but did I have a wonderful time watching them lose (surprise surprise)?  Yes I did.

Did I start taking an art class with my mom and sister that has me a little psyched out (it's clay-3D.  I am a 2D kid, generally) but excited to have a concrete time set to release the creativity each week?  Yes I did.

Did I finally go to the Xcel Energy Center to see the Minnesota Wild hockey team play in the great State of Hockey?  Yes I did.  Did I have an awesome time? Most certainly.

Have I actually been sticking to my marathon training schedule?  Yes I have.  And I think I might have even had a bit of a breakthrough in the last week between a 5 mile long run last Sunday and a pair of short 3s this week.  I am certainly on track to personal best some 5Ks this spring, if nothing else.  Less than 4 months to the Buffalo Triathlon-- time to start working in some more swim time.

Have I been spending a fair amount of my spare time with a young man who shares my love for coffee (let us gloss over his preference for Starbucks...), has good taste in beer, makes interesting conversation, looks fantastic in a suit, and takes me to a hockey game even though he may rather be on the baselines at Target Field? Yes I have.  Gladly.

Have I gone grocery shopping since I last felt I was "out of food?"  No.  So meals lately have consisted of spaghetti or mac'n'cheese, peanut butter sandwiches, and coffee.  Milk has only been gone for 2 days, but apples for at least 4.  This is most distressing and somewhere between the treadmill miles, the professional sporting events, and drinks with fruit hanging off the edge of the cup, I will buy another 10 pounds of apples and restore peace to the refrigerator.  And maybe some cheese.

ALSO! In a completely unrelated topic, Reverb10 is back as Reverb11 and they are posting monthly prompts starting in February.  The current prompt is sitting unanswered in my inbox right now, but expect an update in that fashion shortly.

Weekend.

New coffee mug.  Sleeping in.  Sunshine pouring in the windows.  Fresh almond rhubarb coffee cake.  Home brewed beer.  A long, healthy run. Completed painting.  Raucous one-woman dance party (or two or three dance parties!).  A Sunday afternoon football game.  Fantastic company.  Games of fetch.  Delivery pizza.  Good night phone call.

Happy is so easy to find some days.

Reverb 10.31: Core Story

December 31-- Core story.  What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world?  


Genetics, schmenetics.  My blood type was given to me specifically for the way happiness courses through me daily. 


B Positive.  


And that, I think, is my core story.  I looked back through all the reverb prompts, figuring those were a pretty good reflection on the year I have had.  If not the events, at least the way the year makes me feel, having survived all 364.5 days of it so far.  And despite the honesty about a rough go here and there, the common themes included: a newfound safety in reliance on friends,  a continued reliance on perspective about my various situations (living in your sister's basement is better than not having anywhere to live, having a temporary job in your field trumps going back to my barista days), and the huge role that humor and laughter play in my life.  


Appreciating life doesn't mean looking at how things could be worse.  It means feeling positively about how things are.  Just because they are.  

Reverb 10.27: Ordinary Joy.

December 27-- Ordinary Joy.  Our most profound joy is most often experienced during ordinary moments.  What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?

The frenzied typing of a term paper would slow and eventually stop.  The last dishes from the dinner meal would be dried and put away.  The TV would fall silent after playing the preview for next week's episode of [fill in the guiltiest pleasure reality TV show].  And from all corners of a charming second floor Uptown apartment, my roommates and I (and often Roommate 2.0- one of the boyfriends) would gather around the most sacred space our combine student loans could afford: the kitchen counter.  Every night, between 8 and 10 pm (or whenever the last roommate navigated the tiny front stairwell after a long day of class), the three/four of us would sit on the $10 kitchen stools in the bluest of blue kitchens and have our "kitchen counter pow wow." 

At the time, they didn't seem anything special.  They weren't even really a scheduled event.  But somehow, a block of time-- at least 30 minutes-- found its way between class schedules, long nights at work, piles of homework, and social engagements.  And this time, sometimes stretching hours and going way past bedtime on a school night, is the time I got to know my roommates best.  Sometimes we just talked about our day: how great/awful our classes were, the weirdos on the bus, a planned 8 mile run that turned into 3 miles and a latte instead.  Sometimes we talked about more serious things: heartbreak, how we imagined our future lives, things that scared us, things we were excited about.  Sometimes we watched YouTube videos so many times we could quote them for months following.  One time we broke into "MmBop" by Hanson.  Always we appreciated knowing that someone was checking in to make sure we were each okay, all separated from our families by the drive to earn post-grad degrees.  Always we appreciated the different views each of us brought to the kitchen counter. 

Each night I understood these women better than the night before, each night our friendship became stronger, each night we laughed, and each night we made an unspoken commitment that no matter how crazy our lives got, there was always time to say "Hey, I am thinking about you and I hope you had a good day."

Reverb 10.19: Healing.

December 19-- Healing.  What healed you this year?  Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution?  How would you liked to be healed in 2011?


I am assuming the author of this prompt is looking for something a little deeper, and a little more spiritual than "Three Buck Chuck.  The Merlot, please."

Okay, just let me put this glass down and get to thinking and a-ticka-typing.

Laughter.  Laughing in celebration.  Laughing in disbelief.  Laughing so hard I cried and crying so hard I laughed.  Making friends and family laugh.  Laughing at home, laughing at work, and sending a hearty 'LOL' in response to a well-told joke sent many miles via text.  Sometimes it's a sudden outburst of laughter that makes you spit your coffee across the table and sometimes it's a story that starts a tickle in your toes and rolls in to a giant belly laugh that just won't subside.

I guess I could look for something else to heal myself with next year-- maybe I could start becoming more one with my mindsoulbody by starting yoga or drink seaweed smoothies to literally heal myself when I am ill.

But laughing rarely has me bent with my butt in my air and my head tucked behind my ankles and it never makes me gag (although sometimes I might sputter, but you'd have to tell a heck of a knock knock joke).  It's pretty cheap, easy to come by, and has worked so well, that I think I might stick with it in 2011.

Reverb 10.15: 5 Minutes.

December 15-- 5 Minutes.  Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes.  Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. 

This list is not entirely comprehensive, as I only had 5 minutes for a heck of a year.  The last item is sort of a catch-all.

Best New Year's kick off ever (subsequent 4 day hangover/moviefest less fabulous, but still great story).  Graduation.  Tubing down the Apple River-- getting ridiculously sunburnt the first time and battling a thunderstorm and ultra-slow river the second.  Golden birthday celebration.  Roomies' birthday celebrations.  Break up celebrations.  Celebrations.  The rush of relief upon hearing "You have finished your Masters of Public Health with no revisions to your final paper."  Selling my artwork.  Beautiful weddings.  Excited phone calls from some of my most favorite people announcing their engagements.  Recently, a Snowmaggedon/Tsnownami/Snowpacolypse. A big kid job and then a bigger kid promotion.  Excelling at that job and starting to make a teeny tiny name for myself.  Happy. 

Reverb 10.14: Appreciate.

December 14-- Appreciate.  What's the one thing you have come to appreciate the most in the past year?  How do you express gratitude for it?

This one's easy: Coffee maker. Next question.


Just kidding (sort of).

I actually was thinking about this prompt yesterday while I was at work.* I was in a meeting with most of the people in branch (one level up from my team/division) and not surprisingly, it was all women. There are approximately 65 people in our department and about 6 men. Such is the typical make up of public health.

What I noticed in this group, moreso than I had noticed in my co-workers before, was that this was a group of very smart, dedicated women. Every one of us at the table had worked hard to get where she is, has immense passion for what she does, and contributes in a meaningful way to the health of her community and the overall wellness of the people around her. We were also discussing the budget issues crisis absolute disaster sinkhole Minnesota will be facing this session and how, right now, our departmnet budget is intact and semi-stable but how cuts in other areas (education, transportation, housing) will likely impact the work we do. I loved being a part of this roundtable of bright women who are politically active, engaged in their community and engaging in conversation, and that's is when it hit me what I have remembered to appreciate most this year: strong women.

Given the personalities of the women in my family, I think "strong woman" was a behavior and personality type modeled before me from a very early age. But it can be easy to lose sight of that as we travel through life, particularly the young adult years, where feminine behavior seems be regarded as more important and 'becoming' on a lady.

Luckily, my year has been absolutely filled to the brim of strong women. There's the other fabulous ladies in my masters program who were instrumental fibers in the safety net of support I built for myself while also busting their butts to complete their own studies. My project advisory committee included two women who I respect like mad for the things they had accomplished, the way they faced their own lives with incredible balance, and reminded me that no project and no degree is worth losing sight of who I am and not worth (too many) sleepless nights and temper tantrums. And I already gushed about my workplace, but I honestly can't turn a corner in the office without running in to a woman I admire greatly. And of course, the women in my family continue to remind me that I am just one in a long legacy of independent, strong-willed, and frankly, brilliant, women. My mom-- she's beautifully human and not at all ashamed about it; she's everyone's rock.**

The best way to show gratitude for these women/role models/superheroes of my world is to continue the tradition. To show through my actions and accomplishments that their influence on me has been great and I plan to do remarkable things with what I have learned from their example. Watch out, world.



* I was multitasking, not daydreaming.
** One sentence, and then tears. See? Overly emotional. All the time.

Confessions of a Hypersensitive, Overactive, Toy-Destroying Border Collie

Regarding my body:

• I do not understand that in the last 9 months I have been with this family, I have gone from a young pup to a full-size adult dog.  I anticipate being able to fit in spaces such as laps, car seats, and through gaps that are still puppy sized.  
• Unlike other dogs, I am built entirely of elbows.  You may not understand this now, but when I flop myself into your body, you will feel each of them in the bony, digging, sharp manner in which elbows are often thrust. 
• Coordinated movements are fined tuned if I am fetching something, chasing something, chewing something, or trying to sneak out of trouble.  I move like a floppy scarecrow if I am walking, getting off the couch, going through doorways, getting in or out of the car, or turning a corner.  

Regarding my behavior:

• Not only do I warn new people that this is MY house when they come in by barking in random directions, I remind them again when they leave four hours later, even if they have spent the majority of that time rubbing my belly and tossing a ball.  
• I am constantly needing to go outside to check on the status of my toys.  All of the balls in the yard must be congregated in the place of my choice.  If they are not, they will be.  
• My feelings get hurt terribly easily by the following words, phrases, or actions: taking away the ball, "dammit", "go lay down", petting the cats in my presence, leaving me behind for any reason, closing the microwave too loud, asking me not to lay on your clean laundry, accidentally getting kicked because I take up two-thirds of the couch, not being able to sit on my human's lap on the freeway, anything that happens in Petsmart other than letting me carry a squeaky tennis ball around the building, "give me that, please, we need to pay for it."
• I spend my entire day herding things like toys, buildings, parked cars, etc.  By the time I come in for the night, I am exhausted.  My bedtime is strictly no later than 10 pm and I am not interested in starting bed time in my human's bed, on the couch, or on the floor.  Bedtime is observed exclusively in my crate.  Which I love.