This Thanksgiving is So Sad

Calling back to the house grief 

we thought was so bad.

This is worse: we weren’t there 

for her last breath.

We should have done more 

while she was still alive 

before we lost her to death.

Stopped the bad medication 

forced her to walk 

and drink water,

took away her wine 

not lived so far away 

visited more often 

spent more time.

We didn’t know

what to do 

we did the best 

we could 

we gave as much 

as we had 

to give.

But is that really the truth? 

I don’t know but this holiday 

is making me think about 

diseases - of depression, 

alcoholism and Alzheimer’s - that 

I hate, and Ghost of Thanksgiving 

past, pointing its bony finger at me:

You didn’t do anything!

You didn’t do anything! 

and now it’s far too late.

You Know You’re Watching Too Much Netflix When

You dream 

that you have 

an entirely different Mother, 

an entirely different Father - the actor 

from “The Wire” horribly miscast as 

Prince Charles in the latest season of 

“The Crown” - but it was the same old story

We were trying 

to figure out what 

they liked, we were trying 

to please  them, to make them 

happy, in the kingdom of family 

they were our sovreign, we 

their subjects, eternally

*****************************************************

This man, entirely too handsome to play that man!

🤣

(In Love With) Songs About Ghosts

Just in time for Halloween, all the songs I’ve ever loved about Ghosts!

“The Ghost in You” - The Psychedelic Furs - The Ghost in You (Official Video)

Indigo Girls - “Ghost” https://youtu.be/KwbeHSI-3Co

Kristen Hirsch’s “Your Ghost” 

https://youtu.be/ZfW4-nP2G1Q

“Ghost in this House” Alison Krause 

https://youtu.be/5nP0gMVpp1c

“Dancing with Your Ghost” by Sasha Alex Sloan 

https://youtu.be/Qzc_aX8c8g4

And one that I like about Monsters…Skinny Puppy’s

“Monster Radio Man” https://youtu.be/qhg6lai7dcE

A Race Long Deferred - A Weekend With MySelf OR What I Talk About, When I Talk About Independence

This weekend I did the Zooma Amelia Island “Seaside Challenge” originally slated for October of 2020. It’s a 5k “Lighthouse Loop” (around the apparently oldest existing light house in Florida), early Saturday evening followed by a half marathon the next morning, my first half of the Fall running season. It was actually supposed to be my 2nd half marathon of the season but you know what they say, if you want to make God laugh, just make plans. 

A small weather event called Hurricane Ian spun up over the Atlantic and caused the cancellation of the first annual Clearwater Rock ‘n Roll race that was supposed to be held October 2nd and be our first half marathon this Fall. My running buddy was relieved because she hasn’t been training as much as I have, but I was not happy because I was ready! Having done a 15k race (mentioned in my last blog post), the previous weekend as my 9-ish mile training run. (Of course, my small inconvenience is nothing compared to those truly impacted by the devastating storm, as it turned out, and my hearts goes out to all those who continue to face hardship from it.)

In any case, after being deferred for 2 years due to COVID, the Amelia Island Zooma felt like the race that was just.never.gonna.happen. Then when my running buddy bowed out a while back and several plans to have others accompany me fell through, it seemed even more precarious. So I determined I would just go on my own.

I decided I could treat it as an exercise in independence (pun intended). Not exactly unprecedented to do a race outside of my home town, and stay overnight in a hotel alone, because I did it two weekends in a row last spring (as documented in yes, another blog post), but driving anywhere from the 3 hours 46 minutes seen below, to over 5 hours, depending on traffic, was a little further than I was comfortable doing solo. So I figured that would be part of the “challenge” of it all.

🤓

In my lifetime, I’ve not done too much traveling on my own but I’ve always admired women who have the bravery to do it.

I’ve also always been a little preoccupied with independence, maybe because I found feminism at such a young age and it went with my idea of what makes a strong woman. But certainly also influenced by my experience being “addicted” to a relationship with my first love and never wanting to feel that kind of awful dependence again (see blog posts  “dangerous boys”, A LittleBitMore on the Magic Man and a poem called Mourning).

And so I challenged myself to do some things on my own, and I have a very clear memory of the first time I went to see a movie solo (the movie “Grand Canyon”) when I was maybe 19 years old. I was so proud of myself for doing it and I recall having a similar feeling another time going to dinner by myself. I also remember that I thought a lot about independence before I got married, because I had a small fear that I’d be setting myself up for having a man try to control me the way I felt my Dad did back when I considered myself quite grownup but was still living under his roof and his rules. 

I even floated the idea to a (female) friend that maybe I should live on my own before getting married, because I’d never really done that, having always had roommates & living with David pretty quickly after we got together. She gave me the huge gift of her reassuring perspective and memory of how I was in college, often happily alone in my room studying or working on my writing, not clamoring to always be with other people and be entertained. Pretty independent, in other words.

Around the same time, when David was totally ok with me going to visit another (platonic, male) college friend, living in Brooklyn at the time, that clinched it for me; getting married didn’t mean giving up my independence and a certain amount of freedom that I found necessary for me to be happy.

Flash forward 20 years or so and I actually think David and I have evolved to be maybe a little too independent in our relationship (facilitated, at least somewhat, by not having kids together), and so we’ve talked about making a more conscious effort to spend time together doing things we both love like taking trails & boardwalks through the beautiful Florida mangroves or trying a yoga class together. He also promises he’s planning our much discussed trip to the Bahamas (they’re literally right there off the east coast, and yet we’ve never been), for next spring or summer.  

But there are some things I love that he never will, so we cannot share, like running. And so I plan my races (2 more half marathons in November and 4 in the first 3 months of 2023 alone!) and try to make them even if it means going on my own. Because they make me happy and maybe that is the most fundamental thing about independence: taking responsibility for our own happiness, not looking for someone else to provide it. 

Being in charge of our own happiness in life is sort of the bad/good news of being human I guess!

Beach and pool time (showing off the race tank top) before the 5k Saturday evening - 

Showing off the 5k medal afterwards - 

Sunrise before the half marathon this morning, and showing off the TWO medals afterwards (one for the half marathon and one for the “Seaside Challenge” for a grand total of 3 medals for the weekend) - 

So.Much.Fun!

Fathers and Daughters

“The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy.” ~ Frenchy in the movie ”Grease” 

It took me until I was well into my 30s (and long after my father died), to realize that I was/am a total Daddy’s Girl. 

I actually really hate it when grown women call their fathers “Daddy” - feeling that it sort of infantilizes women, and we have quite enough of that in our history and overall culture, thank you very much! But even though, past the age of probably 10, he was “Dad” to me, I don’t mind (now) admitting to being a Daddy’s Girl. 

Which at its most basic level I think just means that he was the parent from whom I most sought love and approval. 

Even while I was teenage-rebelling against him, his ridiculous (to me, at the time) rules and all his ideas about how I was supposed to live my life, he was still influencing me, I think more than my mother was. Even when I was defining myself against him, he was still always somehow my gauge, and maybe that is why I feel like I am more like him than I am like my mom. 

He and I both got Masters degrees, but not PhDs, wanted to be intellectuals, or at least academics, but settled for the stability of more traditional business-y careers. I sometimes stand just like he often did, as captured in this photo, with “arms akimbo” without even realizing it (my husband helpfully points it out).

He and I both frustrated writers, big readers, and both runners. 

My Dad started running sometime in the early 80s when the sport was still sort of new, but he had run track in high school and maybe even college, not totally sure, but this photo is probably from high school, I am guessing.  

I was joining him on his runs by early high school, as the best way to stay in soccer shape. Long before all the technology we have now, he mapped out his different distance routes by speedometer and tracked his runs with a digital watch and his annual Running Journal that we kids bought for him every Christmas. 

There were a lot of runs in the cold wet Seattle weather that I don’t remember too vividly and we did a few races together also, like Beat the Bridge 8k, which apparently turned 40 years old last May, and the Torchlight Parade 10k, part of the annual Seafair in late July.

But what I remember more than anything is the conversations we had on our runs, and the closeness I felt, especially after I got out from under his roof and his rules and we got to enjoy each other more, almost like friends. I remember we talked a lot about politics, running together when I was home from college on breaks, and my women’s studies courses and what we were reading.

And so I thought of him this morning as I got up at 5:30am and traveled down to beautiful Fort Desoto to participate in my first race of the Florida running season; it was a long sloooooow 15k at around 11 minutes per mile. Sadly, I was almost 2 minutes slower than my prior 15k last December, which was a speedy (for me) 9:17 pace. Still, I had a great time and am excited for all my other upcoming races!

Dad backed off running and got into cycling in his early 50s, either because he was having knee/other joint problems or he was worried about having them. I think about him as I enter my 50s and seemingly start to slow down myself, frustrated by an issue with my left hip flexor/glute/hamstring that no amount of yoga, massage, and chiropractor treatments is yet resolving. Maybe he was onto something taking up cycling!

Had he lived, he would have been 80 years old last Saturday Sept.17th; approaching that milestone birthday, my siblings and I have commented more than once that we just can’t picture him as an 80 year old. He was still so virile and energetic at the time of his accidental death that it’s hard to imagine him becoming an old man.  

He will always be, tragically, 53 years old to me and I will always be his Girl. 

Hot Flashes and Hair

Last weekend, after one hot flash too many, and before leaving town for a brief Labor Day weekend getaway with my husband, I cut off a large portion of my long hair. I count it as one of a few relatively rare moments of insanity I’ve had in sobriety. And even though as I was mid-cut I had one panicked thought of “ooooo that’s too much” (but it was too late to turn back), it actually turned out fine. I confirmed my suspicion that my hair - being kind of an unruly mess to begin with - is hard to wreck.

The “before” picture, which I’d title “long hair with morning face” - 

(I’m not sure why all these photos from below, I must be a masochist - along with being a maniacal menopausal woman wielding scissors!)

This coming week I’ll see my hair stylist for one of my far too frequent appointments to cover my grays, and I’m not sure if she’ll be horrified at what I did and scold me; or tell me it doesn’t look too bad and be impressed. (Others have said they are impressed, but they also have no financial stake in the matter.)

Either way I’m so glad I did it, because since then my hair feels much healthier (the ends felt - and looked - like straw before), and even though I’m still having hot flashes, they aren’t quite as massively irritating with less heat-gathering hair to wrangle off my neck. 

And let me tell you, in case you were wondering, hot flashes are no joke!  I have had them on and off for at least 3 years now (with varying frequency and intensity), while I’ve been in what they call “peri menopause” and I just have to wonder: how much longer?!? 

I read this fantastic book to try and educate myself on what’s truly happening when I feel so completely out of control over my own bodily temperature, and I still don’t know. 

But I highly recommend the book anyway.

This getting old thing! My husband recently told me I still look 25 (and encouraged me to continue covering my grays, when I expressed a desire to be done with that exercise in futility), but he’s full of shit; I know I don’t look a day younger than 30 (jk). 

🤩

Well in any case, we had a really nice out-of-town weekend (our first weekend away as a couple since last year’s Labor Day!) that I managed to NOT ruin with my impulsive decision. And so here are a few nice photos from that trip, where we both look much much younger than we actually are. Here’s to a happy fall ya’ll!

 

Gone and I Want You Back

In the couple weeks between my mother‘s death and her funeral back in April, I listened to the “Maid” soundtrack over and over whenever I was in my car. My sister Stephanie gave it to me because we both loved the show on Netflix and because making CDs and sharing music she loves is one of her superpowers, just like letter writing/sending snail mail birthday cards is mine (as I talked about in my eulogy at mom’s funeral, because I inherited this from her). 

When I first listened to that soundtrack, I instantly loved the song “Leave Like That”; listening to it even now, it catches my heart with the very first few notes.

Even though the lyrics seem related to a romantic relationship, for me the song will always be connected to my sadness at my mother’s passing.  

And so as we approach what would have been her 78th birthday on August 6th, I think about how complicated grief is, and yet sometimes it is as simple as “gone and I want you back” ~

Leave Like That by SYML

You never got the chance to know me
Packed it up and crossed the state
You left behind more than memories
Now when I sleep I'm only dreaming of your face

You never got the chance to hold me
I learned to love your selfish way
I still believe in you
And in this burning room
I'll suffer trough the pain

Oh no got me low how you gonna leave like that
Oh no got me low you're gone and I want you back
Oh no down so low feeling like I'm under attack
Oh no where'd you go you're gone and I want you

We never talked about forever
I never wanted you to change
Call me up and I'll be running
Loose my breath calling out your name
Loose my breath

Oh no got me low how you gonna leave like that
Oh no got me low you're gone and I want you back
Oh no down so low feeling like I'm under attack
Oh no where'd you go you're gone and I want you

You're gone and I want you back
You're gone and I want you back and I want you
Gone and I want you, how you gonna leave like that?
Feeling like I'm under attack, gone and I want you back
How you gonna leave like that, gone, gone, and I want you

Heart and Soul

This time in Hawaii with 5 of my closest childhood friends, for the year we turn 50, long anticipated: 7 full rich days. We got here yesterday, we don’t leave until next Saturday.

And while we have plenty of adventures planned (beach later today, snorkeling Monday, definitely some spa time and possible trip to Volcanoes National Park one of the other days) what I am really most looking forward to doing with these women is what I normally do at home by myself: lie in the sun and read. 

However, because my friends all have such good brains and I still find them interesting after over 40 years of conversation, I also want to talk about what we read.

And so, among the many books taking up way too much room in my suitcase (everyone encourages me to go digital but I just.can’t.yet) are these - Brene Brown’s latest because she’s so inspiring & one of Heidi’s favorite authors, and the other so we can talk about money. 

I want us to talk about money because we are all starting to envision what life might be like in “retirement” and I want so badly for us all to have the freedom to do what we want with the time we have left alive on this planet. Nothing like turning 50 to make you feel more in touch with your own mortality right?!?  

Personally, I figure I have what, about 40 more years tops? Yet the internet tells me the average life expectancy for a woman in the United States in the year 2022 is 81.2 years, so maybe not, maybe less, yikes. 

But I really only want to live that long if I have a certain quality of life, which I define as being a minimum of ambulatory and continent. Having seen what my mom went through living so many years trapped in a failing body, I say no thank you and I’ll just quietly see myself out…I’m a planner, so it strikes me I should really plan for that, as much as I plan for retirement, new thought. 🤓

Anyway: money. Not an easy topic…but we are all amazing powerful women and will figure it out!

Ironically also reading this highly praised novel at a time when I feel the least alone I have ever been (and, the furthest from cold Alaska), while here in paradise celebrating this milestone birthday with these women, who’ve been loving me and lifting me up all my life. 

Because truly it’s the heart and the soul that get deeper and richer over time, along with our relationships if we are lucky and put in the effort to stay connected.

The “Big Island” of Hawaii ~ July 2022

This is Also The Month

So yesterday, just days before my 50th birthday, I did this kinda.crazy.thing.

Crazier than running a 50k - my first ultra marathon - after only “training” up to a half marathon distance? Uh yeah, far crazier in fact.

Just before becoming a 50 year old & qualifying for AARP membership (yes, like a lot of others my age, they already snail-mail-nailed me, those bastards), I got glued into a teeny tiny sparkly turquoise bikini, wearing layers of spray tan and more makeup than I’ve ever had on in my life, and tottered on high high heels out on stage in front of judges under paralyzingly bright lights, where I tried to flex all my muscles at once while holding my arms in slightly unnatural positions and sucking in my stomach. 

And remembering to smile. 

And breathe.

It’s not like I didn’t prepare. In fact, I’d been working on this other turning-50 fitness goal for well over a year, and intensively since January.

It’s just that nothing can really prepare you, in my opinion, for the actual experience of being in a body building/figure competition. 

And it was WAY harder than anything I’ve ever done before. Truthfully, I did not feel very confident, I did not feel that any of it came naturally, I did not feel I was particularly good at it. And in fact, I came in dead last in the two “classes” I entered: bikini masters 40+ and open bikini “tall”

But the “win” for me is that I did it at all, when I wanted to quit so many times since it started to get more & more real and the things I had to do to be successful became harder and harder - including drinking 2 gallons of water a day, doing 2 hours of cardio and 45 mins of abs per day + weight lifting sessions, which required many mornings where my alarm went off at 5am. Not to mention the super-restricted eating during that final “cutting” phase, which in all honesty was its own kind of special hell. 

After driving to the show hotel in Orlando (itself a physical and mental challenge, every time), and spending Friday night, the day of the show itself was a lot of prep - starting with 4am wake up call for hair & makeup. I was permitted only 2 spoonfuls of peanut butter and 1/2 protein shake for breakfast, no coffee not even black because of the dreaded bloating it causes, who knew? And then the rest of the day consisted of a lot of waiting around backstage while other “classes” of both male and female athletes, got their chance on stage; just hours back there in the “prep” area, stewing in all that spray tan and a toxic emotional brew of boredom and dread. 

They call us “athletes” but I have never felt more like a beauty queen. Minus the tiara since only the winners got those, and all I got was my weak “participation” medals. 🤣 

Being a beauty queen was sort of fun for a day I guess, but I can’t see making these types of competitions an ongoing part of my lifestyle or fitness routine. Because it just didn’t feel like me and then also, the fear I had of going onstage and the sense of relief I had when it was all over was palpable. I have never felt that way about any race I’ve done. Not once, no matter how tough, ever.

But I did learn some interesting lessons through it all - about getting out of your comfort zone, for instance, which I think is good, but maybe only up to a point! About being careful with the goals you set and how many people you tell and how invested you get (monetary and otherwise), because you might end up feeling, much as I did, like you can’t turn back.

“A hell of my own making” I started calling it, in the last few weeks. And now it’s blissfully over, and even though my trainer is already talking enthusiastically about my “next show” in September, I know that I never have to do this ever again if I don’t want to.

As incredible as it all was, I think I may just stick to running because it’s about 10x more fun and 100x less difficult; just not nearly as extreme on almost every level, at least in my experience. I do love a challenge and I need to have fitness goals but I have now learned that such extremes just don’t work for me. I will let you know though, if my sometimes malleable opinions change by September!~ 

Time

Poem recited by the Deacon at my mother’s beautiful funeral mass last week, touched my heart.

Whatever the question is, Love is truly the answer.

“Time Is” ~ by Henry Van Dyke, Music and Other Poems, 1904

Time is

Too Slow for those who Wait,

Too Swift for those who Fear,

Too Long for those who Grieve,

Too Short for those who Rejoice;

But for those who Love,

Time is not.