A Swing and a Miss

I did not starve my family this week, which is the most important take away of this post.

Menu for Oct. 12-Oct.17

Sunday: Waffles 

--This is what I planned but not what we actually had.  I don't remember what we actually had.


Monday: Cajun Meatloaf (Bon Appetit, p. 388), Roasted potatoes (mix of regular and sweet potatoes), veggies and hummus

--We did eat this, very tasty
       

Taco Tuesday: Chicken fajitas


Sandwich Wednesday: Fried Egg Sandwich with Pancetta and Arugula (maybe spinach instead of Arugula--easier to use up).  P. 158 Bon Appetit

--This didn't happen either.  I was in Phoenix all day Wednesday and got home late,  and Moses was running around dealing with a car in the shop so everybody sorted their own dinner.  I think the boy made himself a quesadilla, I had veggies and hummus with a side of toast, and I guess Moses ate something too.  On a side note, I had waffles and fried chicken  for the first time for lunch on Wednesday (thus my lack of interest in dinner).  I always thought waffles and chicken was some sort of fancy waffle and chicken conglomeration but it turns out it is just fried chicken sitting a plate next to a waffle.  I'm not sure how I feel about that because it seemed pretty random.

Thursday: Leftovers
--This didn't even happen.  G. had climbing club and we grabbed Chipolte afterwards.

Friday: Pizza

--Not even pizza is happening because G is headed to a friend's house after school I'm going to save pizza for tomorrow. I think I'll make the Fried Egg Sandwich with Pancetta for Moses and myself tonight, since we have all the stuff and because: menu plan fail.

Watch out for Falling Objects

This of course is not that actual meteor I saw, but it was about that size.

This morning I was about halfway through the suckiest, slowest, most miserable run I have had in quite some time when I happened to look up at the right moment, and....a METEOR FELL FROM THE SKY.  In a flash of light and ball of FIRE.  For reals (I checked with the women next to me, they saw it too).  It was big, or at least big compared with what you usually see if you are star-gazing at night.  I was tempted to say "only in Flagstaff" but of course there was that huge meteor in Russia a year or so ago.  So, Russia and Flagstaff.  Unfortunately, the ball of fire falling from the sky did not make my run hurt less--it wasn't one of those magical balls of fire--but it did give me something to thing about besides how much my feet hurt.

This week's dinners: 
Oct. 4-Oct. 10

Saturday: BLTs

Sunday: Crock Pot Turkey White Bean Chili.  I recommend at least doubling the spices for this recipe, otherwise it is good but bland.
               Dessert: Ice cream (lame compared with last week, but you can't go big every week, maybe I'll fry up an apple in butter and cinnamon to go with it)

Monday: Crock Pot Santa Fe Chicken with rice.

Taco Tuesday:  Tacos with leftover Santa Fe Chicken as the main filler. (I'm actually just hoping that this will work.  I have not made the Santa Fe Chicken before so don't really know if it'll make good taco filling, but it seems like it'll be okay).

Sandwich Wednesday: Mediteranean Chicken Wraps with veggies and hummus.

Thursday: Leftovers

Friday: Pizza

Middle School

G. came home today and, as per his usual habit, wandered up to my office to say hello.  And with him wafted in what I can only describe as the odoriferous fumes of Satan's grandmother.  "DEAR GOD, what is that smell?" I asked.  Except I omitted the "DEAR GOD" part because I thought it sounded kind of judge-y and I am really trying to back off that sort of thing as a mother.

G.: "Oh! Chocolate-mint hand sanitizer! Doesn't it smell so good?!"  Said while shoving his hands into my face--you'll be relieved to know I did not pass out.

I suppose chocolate-mint is preferable to this.

Me (in my head): "WTF is chocolate-mint hand sanitizer?"  This stuff smells like neither chocolate nor mint, but like....well, Satan's grandmother on Sunday morning. Satan's blue-haired grandmother who lost all sense of olfactory reasonableness 50 years ago and bathed in a vat of "eau de hideous-floral-chemical" before showing up at church with the intent of rendering unconscious every living creature in a five mile radius.

Me (out loud and non judge-ily): "Huh. Where did you get it?"

Boy (with a grin): "Girls."

I peg my chances of surviving my child's adolescence at about 50/50.



This week's dinner menu (Sept. 27-Oct. 3):

Saturday: Pizza (Holdover from the last week-G. had a school dance on Friday so Moses and I headed out for happy hour and tapas)

Sunday: Roasted Salmon with Orange Herb Sauce (Bon Appetit Every-Night Cooking), Roasted Potatoes and Salad
               Dessert: pound cake with vanilla ice cream and cider sauce (also Every-Night Cooking)

Monday: Chicken Verde Soup (Every-Night Cooking) and garlic bread.  This was meh--fancy title, but basically just chicken soup with all green vegetables.

Taco Tuesday: Citrusy Black-Bean Taquitos (Forks over Knives)  This was not great, and in retrospect I should have known.  The recipe required a fair amount of prep, had several steps, involved a food processor (a sure sign of fussiness), and did not involve frying the taquitos.  And it was vegan.  Not-fried, vegan taquitos are soul-crushingly disappointing.

Sandwich Wednesday: Grilled prosciutto and fontina cheese sandwiches with fresh basil (Every-Night Cooking)

Thursday: Leftovers

Friday: Pepperoni Pizza.
Movie: Good Will Hunting.  G. enjoys movies with people who effortlessly do genius things, like Tony Stark creating the Ironman suit out of scrap metal and delusional thinking, so I'm betting he'll like this movie.  And probably pick up some techniques for deploying swear words, hopefully not while I'm around.)

Playing Catch Up

Since I was out of town last weekend, my wonderful husband came up with this week's menu:

Sunday:  Chicken fajitas

Monday: Pasta Salad with Ham

Tuesday: Beef Kabobs with Rosemary and Lemon (Science of Good Cooking p. 127)

Wednesday: Chicken with Lemon and Parsley (Science of Good Cooking p. 131)

Thursday: leftovers

Friday: Pizza (probably Hawaiian since we have both ham and pineapple).

As an added bonus, he is cooking too!  I find it hilarious that he gravitates toward the Science of Good Cooking book,which I think is interesting in a general sense, but unnecessarily fussy and not super-helpful when trying to get dinner on the table, where I prefer anything with "easy" in the title. Getting back into town on Sunday was probably not a great plan on my part as I feel like I've been trying to remember where I left my brain for the past couple of days.  Probably I should check the fridge.

12 Miles

I'm training for this year's Tucson's Marathon and this Saturday's long run is 12 miles.  Not my

Out of pavement.

longest run ever, but enough to require some planning and dash of courage.  Probably I should stop thinking about it and all of the other runs on my training schedule.  Also, believe it or not, it is hard to find 12 miles worth of pavement when you live in a small town.  Five miles will get you get you from one side of town to the other other, six kind of leaves you out in the woods or onto the highway. Probably I will just run in circles.

Anyway, we're hitting Pickin' in the Pines this weekend, after I'm done suffering on Saturday morning, so I'm using my flex day tomorrow for house cleaning and grocery shopping.  Which leaves us with next week's dinner menu.

Sept. 13-20

Saturday: chili (in the crock pot)

Sunday: Crunchy Wasabi Salmon with Lime (Bon Appetit p. 308)

Monday: pasta salad

Tuesday: black bean tacos 

Wednesday: hamburgers, veggies and hummus

Thursday: nachos

Friday: Hawaiian pizza

I feel the need to explain that I will be out of town starting Wednesday and the latter part of the menu was the invention of the guys in my house.  Absence of redeeming nutritional value is totally not my fault.

This Week in Dinners

I think the blog was originally invented as a place to communicate your deep and meaningful thoughts to the world, and probably not somewhere to store random things that your ever-aging brain no longer has room for, but it seems the things I want to talk about most these days are not so much deep and meaningful but more along the lines of "this all speeding by so fast, if I don't write down somewhere I will forget all of it, and why did I put the cereal away in the fridge?".  In that vein, I'm going start posting my weekly dinner menu.  I've been making weekly menus for quite some time now (seems like the week goes better if I make all of the dinner decision all at once) but I typically write it down on a dry erase board.  And then I erase it. And then I a few months later I notice we are in a rut and remember that one really great week when I tried a bunch of new things that everybody like to eat but can't for the life of me remember what they are.  So, thank you Internet for being a permanent record of everything I type into you.

This week's dinner menu:

Sept. 7-12

Sunday: Cornbread Casserole and salad

Monday: "Pizza" Salad (this is really just antipasto salad but the boy likes it better if you call it pizza salad) and garlic toast

Tuesday: Tacos (with ground turkey)

Wednesday: Cheesy stuffed baked potatoes and roasted vegetables

Thursday: leftovers (such a great night, it's like someone else cooked).

Friday: pepperoni and black olive pizza

Friday nights we usually watch a movie while we eat pizza.  This week we've got "Non-Stop" with Liam Neesom and Lady Mary.  Pretty sure Lady Mary will kick terrorist booty with snide remarks and a withering gaze.  It would be awesome if the Dowager Countess was also on the plane, but alas, you cannot have all of the things all of the time.

Book Review: 25 Shades of Grey

That book? The one that's getting all the buzz? Yeah, I read it.  Well, I read half of it, thus confirming that I will read half any piece of crap if it gets sufficient buzz.  And I have to say, it was awful.  I know you are thinking, "but Kerry, you have an incredibly high tolerance for all sorts of crap, how bad could this book have been?"  Well, writing-wise, not worse than much of the other literary swill I have chugged in my life: for sure the writing in this book is toward the bottom end of the swill spectrum, but, to be fair, not in the dregs.  Maybe dregs-adjacent. The thing with this book is...it was...it was ugh.. it was just.... ARRGHH.  No, not the sex parts.  If you have ever read Primitive Sex One, Two, and Three, or, you know, are an adult, there is nothing in 50 Shades that is really that shocking (at least in the first half of Book One).  I just hated the main character, Anastasia Whatsherface, and hated even more that a female author would create such a weak, wishy-washy, powerless, mostly spineless female character who is so....ARGGHH.  The basic premise of this book is that the male lead character is a super rich dude into BDSM who offers the "heroine" a deal where she will be the submissive to his dominant for 3 months or so, and during which time she will do everything he requires of her, no questions asked, in every aspect of her life down to what she will wear and what she can eat.  And the main character CONSIDERS this.  At which point I started screaming "what? WHAT?!! IDIOT GIRL WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT."  And then. AND THEN. Mr. Billionaire presents her with a "contract" to sign that outlines--in fake legalize--the terms of the deal, and my inner lawyer has a stroke from the stupidity, and that is how far I got in that book.  I have no idea what happens in the rest of Book One or in the rest of the series because I suspect neither Anastasia or the dude fall off cliffs, are accidentally impaled by icicles, or slip on the tile and drown in the infinity pool, which are I believe the only palatable resolutions to that story.  So. Yeah.  I wouldn't really recommend this book.

Imogene 2012: (non) Race Report

Race morning, Telluride, CO

I don't know, but it might be time for me to break-up with Imogene.  How do you know when to call it quits? How to say, "thanks for the memories, but we're through?"

We've had an off and on relationship now for more than four years.  Our rocky past (pun totally intended) began in September 2008.  I had no idea what a seductive, if treacherous and fickle race it would be.  I was pretty sure that first year I would run this once and it'd be out of my system; it'd be that great one-off race I'd talk about forever but never do again.  That first year was so long and so painful that I thought for sure that was true, we were over.  But something about Imogene gets under my skin, its siren song loud, its pull magnetic.  The following year I signed up again.  Later in the summer, I found out that my annual work conference was scheduled for the week immediately preceding the race, and there was no way to reasonably get from San Diego to Telluride the afternoon before the race.  I was actually disappointed we didn't meet that year.

2010 was our golden year.  I signed up a third time and made it to the starting line, although with much trepidation, and finished 45 minutes faster than my first race.  I hurt when I was finished but not nearly as bad as the first go.  I thought we finally understood each other.  I giddily signed up again for the summer of 2011.  I knew what this race was all about, I was just going to go knock this puppy out and maybe I would even shave a few more minutes off my time.  Two days before the race, I came down with a head cold but, for the sake of Imogene, told myself a thousand little lies along the lines "it's just allergies, you'll be fine."  Like an idiot, I thought I knew Imogene, knew exactly how steep were its hills and high were its summits, and figured I could still make it over, if slowly.   I was so confident, I didn't even bring my phone.  Between miles three and four, I was dizzy and seeing black spots from a general inability to breathe, and realized I wasn't going to make it.  For the sake of my husband (who has warned me many times "you better not die before me") and our son I turned around, walked back to Ouray, and cooled my heels for four hours while I waited for the one bus back to Telluride.

Enter June 2012.  Imogene and I were at that point in our relationship where the shine starts to fade.  I knew exactly what a bitch it could be.  But I also knew how beautiful its course is, how great it feels to finish, and how much I enjoy the weekend in Telluride.  I also suspected that another year of consistent running at altitude might mean I could shave off another chunk from my finish time.  I was pretty diligent about my weekly running; it wasn't far but I did it three to four days/week almost every week this summer (with the exception of vacation).  I got in three long hikes--not as many as I would like, but better than nothing.  Moses could not go this year, so I knew this was going to have to be my baby.  I also decided that G. was old enough to tag along for the weekend and his aunt agreed to watch him during the race.  We left for Telluride around noon on Friday. That put us in Telluride around 7:00p.m., Arizona time and needless to say, by the time we got there I was beat.  I was already feeling like I did not have 17 miles of up and down in me, and then I found out my brother wasn't running because of a recurring foot injury.  Suddenly it seemed like I wasn't going to really know anybody on the course (which is silly because everybody I know is always in front of me anyway--it's not exactly social hour) and any remaining motivation was seeping away.  I prepped my race gear and clothes that night and set alarm.  When it went off at 4:30 a.m. (3:30 Arizona time) that little voice in my head said "dude, you are an adult, this a foot race, not saving the world or even earning a pay check, and if you don't want to do it you don't have to." So I didn't.  I shut off the alarm, went back to bed and spent the morning with G., my brother and his wife, and my new niece (who I totally monopolized for more than an hour--you've got to take advantage when grandparents are busy).  I felt a twinge of regret as we watched the racers come in, until I realized that at the three hour mark I wouldn't even be at the summit, I would be in a lot of pain, and I would still have had two or three more hours to go.  G. told me later he was glad a I didn't race because I didn't seem that motivated and "you probably would have been last." Too true.

So, I'm wondering now if it is time for Imogene and me to take a break.  Get a little breathing room. Re-evaluate what we want out of this relationship.  See other people, other events.  Maybe events somewhere easier to run, like the beach.  At sea level. Where it is flat. Maybe it's time for me to just enjoy a Flagstaff summer without worrying about training, to go hiking because I like to hike and running because I like to run.  But. There's a big part of me that wants to do this thing right, train like a crazy person for six months, and go kill it next year.  I don't know.  Maybe we just need counseling.

Zen and Art of Household Maintenance

Being the awesome, full-of-life, adventurous soul that I am, I used the precious third day of my three-day weekend to.....clean my house.  That just sounds so. lame.  I didn't intend to.  My house was not that bad (comparatively) and I had fully intended to do something fun.  At a minimum read my book.  [I know you are going to ask: I'm reading Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Slayer.  Vampires! Abe Lincoln! Woo hoo!  Also, alleluia for the public library for having this book so I didn't have to spend money on it.  Even if the librarian who retrieved it for me from the hold desk looked liked she was going to have to go home and shower because she had to touch it (I figure she must be new, because that cannot be the worst book in the library) and even if it is the large-type version, which is really like reading ABRAHAM LINCOLN VAMPIRE SLAYER! As if my normally melodious inner-narrator went on summer vacation and was replaced by Great-Uncle Milt from the senior center who forgot to put in his hearing aid.] But then G. went outside to play and seemed happy, Moses had to go into work for a bit, and that insidious little voice in my head started thinking about the next three weeks which involve Moses on travel, the Imogene Pass Run (fourth time-go me!) lots of solo parenting (hello every single pick-up and drop off for school, marshall arts, and piano lessons) and then work travel for me.  I decided I'd clean for two hours and then quit.  But then it just felt so good, I gave into my latent OCD and kept going.  I cleaned all those little things that only take five minutes to deal with but you put them off because they are outside of the normal routine--like banishing 9-yr-old boy finger prints from the bathroom door frame, cleaning the brown spots off the wall where the dog likes to sleep, and--most satisfying of all--cleaning the dust off the floor moldings along the stairs.  I could just sigh with pleasure thinking about it.  I also bothered to do the regular stuff like clean bathrooms and vacuum and then actually put the clean clothes into the closet.  And I'll tell you what--it wasn't relaxing, but in terms of my mental health it was better than any spa day.  Next three weeks: bring it on.

Comeback

From an awesome trip we took in the last year
that I may or may not tell you about someday.

I'm coming back-really and truly-and aiming for one post per week.  Not that you need to know that, but putting it out there might help me focus in a bit.  I've been struggling with my online presence over the past year: how much of myself or my family I really want to put out there in the world; respecting my son's growing need for privacy and not having his life exposed for the entertainment/sentimentality of his mother before he ever gets a chance to define his own online presence; and living life from a first-person perspective-being present while not always thinking about how I'm going to cast "this thing I'm doing" on my blog.  And in many ways, the past year without blogging has been very freeing, of my time and how I interact with the world.  On the other hand, I love writing, I love telling stories, and many of my past posts have captured events, for me, that I would otherwise have forgotten.  I didn't come up with any grand theories about how to balance stories/privacy/presence but I think that if I practice enough, I can figure it out or at least find something I can live with.  So I'm going to try to get back to telling the stories I want to tell and starting the conversations that interest me and see what happens.  Because, to loosely quote (my favorite movie) Joe vs. The Volcano, "that's life, right? you jump and you see."

Uniformly Lovely

I'm thinking about adopting a uniform. I read, and I'm sure it's true because everything I read is mostly true, that most people only wear about 20% of the clothes in their closet.
The other 80% is just filler. This is probably true for me.
My favorite daily outfit is composed of: jeans, t-shirt, and cardigan with three-quarter length sleeves. I feel like myself. I look presentable but not over dressed for my day (which, let's be honest, barely involves leaving the house), and those clothes are easy to care for. I have other items in my closet but those are the ones I keep going back to. So I'm thinking, why not just wear only what I love to wear and pretty much ditch the rest? I'd keep my suits and a few items for those times when I have to show my face in the office and a couple of dresses for special occasions. But everything else would go. Because, then, how easy would it be to get dressed in the morning?!! I'm going to stew on this until the weekend before I take the plunge and cull my closet.

The Digital Sabbatical

I don't know if you can really say that you are taking a sabbatical if 1) you are not an academic or 2) are only taking it for two days, but I didn't come up with the term so I'm not going to be picky (I stole the idea from Rowdy Kittens). As part of my observance of Lent, I'm using the weekends to take a digital sabbatical meaning that I am avoiding my computer and smart phone (beyond making phone calls) on Saturdays and Sundays. The first and second weekends of Lent were easy because we were out of town the first weekend and the second weekends was consumed with laundry and house projects. Last weekend we finally had some down time and I felt the full force of my internet fast. I would typically have whittled away a good deal of time reading the the paper online, lurking on Facebook and catching up on some of my favorite blogs, maybe trolling Etsy or Craigslist. Last Saturday, I did this instead:


In case you can't tell, that would be a meticulously rendered drawing of Imperial Star ships and fighters duking it out with Rebel Destroyer Blaster Bazingas. Or something like that. When you draw the lasers, you have to say "pow, pow, pow" in a laser-y voice. The green stuff is from the slime shooters. One of the ships shoots candy canes and peppermint drops. You are NOT allowed to draw heart shooters. I would love to tell you that the two hours I spent doing this were the best of my life, that I learned deep and meaningful truths about parenting and creative play and exploring color and geometry while experiencing world through the innocent perspective of my gifted offspring. Truth be told I kind of missed the weekend paper and I didn't have enough coffee. And I had a cold. And also it is hard to be bossed around by an eight year old because your ARE DOING IT WRONG. And my gifted offspring likes Stars Wars a little too much and talks non-stop. But. Watching the wheels in my child's brain spin is absolutely delightful and fascinating and funny. Really, really, really funny.
I also used some time last weekend to read and on Sunday afternoon I slept for four hours (because I was sick). I can't say that I wouldn't have done these things had I allowed myself access to a computer, but somehow it was easier to do them. Sort of as if I had permission. It wasn't life altering or cathartic, but it was nice. And I'll always take nice.

Spring, Thou Art a Fickle Bitch

We returned from a fantastic spring break trip to California to sunny days and temperatures in the mid-50's. Not spectacular, but I'll take mid-50's over mid-20's any day. The tulips in our back yard popped up and I began to feel the tingle of the slow thawing of my fingers and toes, and, dare I say it, a ray of hope for warm days and running outside. Then. Grrrr. Snow. Lots and lots of wet icky snow. Grrrr. This time of year makes me crazy and crabby. And also I came down with a cold, could not remember where the power button for my computer was this morning, and forgot how to log into work because I hadn't done it in over a week. And also-also, the dog ran out of food and my car is nearly out of gas.

But...ahh...... Spring Break. A whole week off. We decided that seeing how Garion is now 8, we had better take that poor boy to Legoland before he was too old to enjoy it or he died of envy because all his friends had been and he had not. Garion loved everything there, but most of all the new roller coaster that hurtles you down a big slope before chucking you back up another one.


I did not ride the down and up-chuck roller coaster. I did ride the dragon roller coaster and discovered that a roller coaster is made all the more terrifying by the sight of your baby sitting in front of you, by himself, with his hands in the air while the contraption that you are both stuck to hurtles around corners at 90-ish degree angles. It took everything I had to suppress the urge to yell "young man put your hands down right this minute!"



The next day we headed down to Cabrillo National Monument, where for once in our lives we were somewhere at precisely the right time, peak tide pool exploring hours. The tide pools were my favorite part of the trip along with the thrill of hearing Garion yell, "Mom! Look--a hermit crab!! Oh, Mom, over here!! Mom, look at this!" He even let me take his picture without making a face:



Possibly this sweetness is why we totally caved when Garion begged to go to Disneyland to ride more roller coasters. Thunder Mountain was his favorite of all the roller coasters and he was so happy to be at Disneyland that he even consented to riding Pirates of the Caribbean twice just to make his mother happy. Garion has informed us that next time, he would like to go to Magic Mountain, please, where they have real roller coasters. So that will be a very special father-son trip.

Looking for Distraction in Snow and Cold

I started this with the intention of writing about yesterday's events in Tucson. But I don't think I can, much. I feel shock and anger and deep sadness for the families of the victims and am still reeling from the shock of the loss that effects so many people I know; a senseless loss that every single person I work and their families are trying to wrap their heads around.
So today I looked for some distraction and comfort in cold and snow. We took our snowshoes and headed out the Nordic Center for a couple of hours today. Cold air and clear sunlight and quiet and crunchy snow and the beautiful cathedral of the pine forest. They worked some of their cleansing magic and I am going to try to hang on to that feeling the rest of this week.

Do you know the way to Santa Fe?

Because I do. You hop on I40 and drive for forever. Then you take an off ramp for a freeway that heads North and drive for another hour. Last weekend I went to visit my college and maid of honor, who now lives in Santa Fe with her husband and two children. I hadn't seen her in over three years. She used that time to produce not one, but two adorable boys who are now 2 years and 3 months old. I used that time to....um.....maintain course.

For whatever reason, we rarely talk. Neither of us is big on the telephone and e-mail just seems inadequate. Despite pretty much never talking, the instant I walked into her house we were chatting away as if we had just seen each other yesterday. She refers to our friendship as the low maintenance kind.

We had an awesome weekend. My friend's husband gamely took charge of both children for the entire day and we went off for some hardcore shoe shopping and gallery browsing. My friend works for a state program that purchases art for state buildings. So awesome is this job that when she asked about a couple of pieces that were not on the gallery floor, the woman working in the gallery went into the back storage area, found the pieces, and set them out for us to look at in a private room under the special lights. Sweet.

Also sweet: I bought cowboy boots. They are awesome. They make Moses roll his eyes.

I'm not sure when I'll get the change to visit my friend again, but I hope it's not another three years. You need to have that person in your life who just effortlessly gets you.

Geronimoooooooo!

Garion has been on a serious Geronimo Stilton kick lately and apparently these books are all the rage among second grade boys. In case you are not hip to the 8 year old scene, Geronimo Stilton is a mouse who lives in, wait for it....Mouseopolis, and runs a newspaper called the the Rodent's Gazette. He has all sorts if improbable adventures and then writes books about them. That's right, the mouse writes the books. Try to keep up. Also, he is something of a reluctant lady's man--I mean lady's mouse--this totally cracks me up.

Anyway, today is library day. When I pulled up to the school I spotted three second grade boys standing around, each with a Geronimo Stilton book in their hands, reading. And Garion was leaning in to read over the shoulder of one of them. That would be four, 7-8 year old boys so excited about books, books for crying out loud, that they were reading them in public in full view of other children while waiting for their parents. Geronimo Stilton, you rock my world.

The New Old Bicycle

Last month, my father-in-law gave me an old English-style 3-speed bicycle. The beautiful kind with fenders and a step-though frame and upright handle bars. The kind that you need a bell and a basket for and the kind that you can ride while wearing a skirt, if the mood strikes. I'd been trolling craigslist for just such a bicycle for some time, but couldn't find one in my price range when--voila!--one was magically transported to my garage. Magically as in Moses went out to his dad's place one day and came back with a surprise for me.

Wait. What was that? You don't care that much about my new bicycle? You want to know what my son was for Halloween and why I am such a slacker mother that I never post the Halloween picture until sometime in November? Okay. Fine. Here:


He was a wizard. He was a wizard because although he originally intended to be Indiana Jones, the thrift store did not have the perfect Indiana Jones jacket and a jacket that looked "good enough" for mom was not good enough for the boy. And if Garion can't do the costume exactly right, he's not going to do it all. Which is completely frustrating and monumentally irritating when you are in the middle of a busy thrift store a week before Halloween and all of the sudden he says "I don't want to be Indiana Jones....I don't know what I want to be." But it worked out in the end. He's wearing my law school graduation robe, which will give you an idea of just how tall my baby is. Also, in my defense, it is only November 3rd, and I think this is most timely Halloween post ever, so there.

Now we can talk about my old new bicycle, which I am thoroughly smitten with:



I forgot to take a picture before we took it apart. And yes, that is my dog in background thinking that maybe if he stares hard enough at the bucket, one of the tennis balls inside will come flying out and play with him.
I should have started my bicycle search at The Land (my father-in-law's place) to begin with because I think that my father-in-law is storing at least one of every mechanical thing ever know to man out there. You know, just in case the world ends and humanity will need the last [insert mechanical item here] to figure out how to make more. Unfortunately, time at the land also means that the bicycle needed a little love. Well, actually quite a bit of love. Here's the hub, after I brushed off a bucket full of red dust:


And the rims, with a not insubstantial amount of rust:


The rust proved to be overwhelming and after reading about some safety implications of riding a bicycle with rusted-out rims, I decided to order new rims and a new hub. These are harder to track down then you would think. But yesterday--oh joy!--my new rims came and they are shiny and beautiful. Now I just need to finish cleaning up the bicycle, and possibly painting the frame. Then, as soon as I have some free time, I can put it all back together and have a lovely, beautiful new old bicycle to tool around on. Just in time for winter and snow. Someday I will have better timing. Until then I will dream of beautiful English-style three speeds with new rims and wizards who were Indiana Jones in their previous lives.

Back of the Smithosonian

How nerdy is it to have a subscription to the Smithsonian Magazine? Well, doesn't matter because Moses is the one who subscribes so either way you answered, I am still cool. The coolest. Ha.
Not the point, however. The point is the back of the magazine. The awesome part where they carry advertisements for weird crap that will transform you into a modern day Indian Jones without the guns and violence. You think I kid? Here's a sampling:

- Fisher Space Pen
-Authentic Artifacts and Coins
-Wireless Weather Station
-Athena Pheromones ("biologist's pheromones increase affection")--you know Indy was all over this
-Wold Discovery Box (Includes over 50 fossils, insects, marine life and minerals)
-Publish Your Book Now!
-Voyages to Antiquity
-Turkey Tours (the country not the bird)
-Upton Tea Imports
-European Beret (probably for the girl, not for Indy because he had the hat)
-David Morgan Unique Items of Lasting clothing (felt fedora, red check flannel, and messenger bag shown)
-World's Fastest Wrinkle Remover (even Indy ages)
-a Cell Phone That's a Phone (as in that's all it does)
-Gorilla Glue

No kidding, that's all in the back. Plus a bunch of other similar crap. I love it all. Yes, please, send me on a Voyage to Antiquity dressed in David Morgan's clothes, where I will write my self-published book with my space pen while smelling like Athena's pheromones. I can hardly wait.

My Funny Brother, My Roomy: Imogene Pass Run 2010 Race Report

Let me begin this tale with the most important fact: I beat my previous Imogene time by almost 45 minutes (whatever 6:26 minus 5:45 is). Brussel sprouts! I TORE IT UP!!!!

Okay. Now that that's out in the open, we can move on. Or back to the beginning. Whatever. Moses and I did not want to go to this race. Did not want to make the six hour drive, did not want to get up at O' dark thirty on race day, did not want to stagger 17.1 miles for hours on end at high altitude. We began exploring excuses for not going early last week. In fact, if you had asked me last Wednesday whether we were actually going to go, I would have said, I doubt it. But. Thursday afternoon I got an e-mail from my brother titled "Pain & Agony" which said: "Have you thought of any good excuses to get out of running on Saturday? I'm thinking about cutting off a toe." Jerk. Making me laugh like that. I knew then that we were going because all of the sudden I wanted the chance to hang out with my brother and his wife, his in-laws, and friends--you know, the cool fit kids. (Every year, my brother's wife's family organizes the trip to Telluride for a big group of people).

So we deposited the various living things that we are responsible for at their respective weekend destinations (kid to school, then friend's house, then grandparents, dog to kennel, and plants to fend for themselves) and hit the road Friday morning. And you know what? It was okay. By the time we got to Cortez, Colorado, I was kind of into it. And by the time we started the climb into the San Juan Mountains, I was mentally there and glad we got out of town for the weekend. That last hour and half into Telluride is just gorgeous. I think it's nearly impossible to regret being there.

We pulled into town and found out that we'd be sharing a room with my brother and his wife. "You guys get the bunk beds," said my brother. Okay, I guess that's fair because last time we got the master suite with the jetted tub. We deposited our beer at the main house and headed over to our assigned condo where we met one of our house mates who, upon learning that I was my brother's sister, said "Oh, that's wonderful! He is SO funny. I mean really, really funny. I mean the whole way up here--SO FUNNY!" Yes, I know, you think he's funny now, you should have seen him when he was 8 and blew up that egg in the microwave. That evening we had a great dinner, and great conversation with great people, and my brother continued to be his funny self, fueled by a not insubstantial amount of beer. (Don't worry, at about 8:30 that night, he switched to Gatorade to get ready for the race. Yeah, I know. Instantly switching from beer to Gatorade is apparently his superpower).

We hit the sack early in anticipation of our early wake-up the next day: my brother and his wife in their bed and Moses and me in our bunk beds. "Goodnight, Kerry." "Goodnight, Lisa." "Goodnight Mary Sue Ellen." "Goodnight John Boy." Do you know how old I was the last time I shared a room with my brother? 12. As is my pre-race norm, I failed to sleep at all that night and laid there running the race in my head over and over again and trying not to think about my nervous tummy because I didn't want to be the bad roomy who had to get up to pee a million times in middle of the night.

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., Colorado time. That would be 3:30 a.m., Arizona time. That would be (mom, close your eyes for a sec.) really fucking early. And guess what? My brother is a morning person. Brussel sprouts. How can he be funny first thing in the morning after all that beer and Gatorade? My brother's wife was sick, and therefore not running, but still got up early so she could see everybody off and shuttle gear from the start to the finish line because she's awesome like that.

We had breakfast and slept-walk our way through the obligatory pre-race ritual: get on an over-heated, crowded school bus in the dark, ride some impossibly long time with bus full of impossibly fit people to the start, get off in the freezing cold and head immediately for the toilet line and then proceed to hurry up and wait. My sister-in-law's mother asked me how I was doing and then gave me a great pep talk about running my own race and just relaxing and reminding me that I already know I'll make it because I've done it before. This woman could talk me into anything (she's talked me into entering Imogene three times and I think the only reason she couldn't talk me into running it instead of going to a work conference last year was because I didn't see her before I left for the conference). The state department should hire her to negotiate peace in the middle east, she is that good.

Pep talk in mind, I decided she's right, I'm just going to run/hike/walk/crawl my own race and I'm not going to worry about anything else or how I'm doing compared to anybody else. I'm just going to finish and it doesn't matter what happens and I will make it because I've done it before. And that's what I did. Moses took off at a faster pace, and that was fine. I quit trying to keep up with him (at this point we were both walking) and it the end this was much better for both of us (Moses finished in under 5 hours). I prefer to suffer alone. I didn't worry that I had to stop running and start walking less than half a mile into the race. I found my pace and stuck to it. And it worked.

That said, about 5 miles into the race, I spotted my brother on the side of the road. He had a leg cramp and had to stop to stretch. I didn't stop because I figured he'd be fine and there wasn't anything I could do to help him anyway and I kind of suck as a sister. And also two years ago when were hiking Mt. Humpherys?, he totally left me to die. In the rain and hale. Also some lady had already stopped and was offering him pickle juice. (Apparently pickle juice is supposed to be the magic potion that instantly cures muscle cramps. My brother said it just made him want to vomit). After a swig of pickle juice, my brother caught up to me. We chatted briefly about the merits of pickle juice and hiked together for a bit. And then on the next hill......wait for it.......I DROPPED HIM. Because he had a leg cramp but, whatever. I didn't see him again the rest of the race and briefly toyed with the idea that I might have beat him in the whole thing but it turns out that he passed me somewhere along the way and neither of us noticed. Probably when I was in the port-a-potty-at-the-top-of-the-mountain. Regardless, for a brief shining moment, I was in front. Hah! Other than that, I was running my own race and not worrying at all about what everybody else was doing. Really.

The uphill part was predictably hard. Really hard. And steeper than I remembered. I did a better job of managing my liquid and food intake and although my heart and lungs were working overtime, I did not get altitude sickness. I just kept moving and that seemed to be the key. The top was beautiful. I took a few minutes to soak in the view and a volunteer snapped my picture at the summit sign. I then assessed my physical state. And, brussel sprouts!, I still had legs. Not only would I finish this stupid race, but I would finish it strong. At the 12 mile mark, I realized that I was going finish substantially better than two years ago and I hunkered down for the remaining five miles. I even finished early enough that my family and friends were still at the finish line by the time I got there. Sweet.

Post-race, everybody took the traditional gondola ride for late afternoon coffee and then we headed back to the main house for dinner, where half of Flagstaff joined us. We even had the winner of the whole shebang at our party because we were so cool. He finished the race in something like 2:19--I cannot even fathom how this is physically possible. I was a little disappointed that he just looked like a normal guy--it seemed like he should at least have had a super-suit.

Overall, I finished ahead of 83 other people. Last time, I finished ahead of 9 people and that was only because Moses let me walk across the finish line first. This really just means that I improved from "pathetically slow" to "slow," but I'll take it. I'm glad we ended up going and we'll probably do it again. We are constantly asked why we would ever endeavor something like this race, and honestly that's still a hard question for me to answer, even with the great experience I had this year. I think it comes down to the intense sense of satisfaction that comes from doing something really challenging, something that is so far outside of normal everyday life that its outcome is not at all predictable. There's also something great about taking on that challenge with a bunch of other people--whether you know them or not--and being part of this thing that was hard and scary and fun all at the same time. Or maybe the answer is really just the classic "because it's there" and also, now, "because I can." (And maybe also "because my brother might get a leg cramp and I will drop him on a hill.")

I've been thinking about:

1. Imogene. It's one week and two days away and my prospects are bleak. Busy summer means not a lot of training means ohmygoodnessI'mprobablygoingtodieonamountaininColorado.

2. Wow, I didn't blog the entire month of August.

3. Holy cow, it is already September.

4. Holy cow, the weather is already turning cold.

5. Holy cow, my baby started second grade two weeks ago and he's brilliant.

6. I can't believe how attached I am to my dog. I expected to feel some mild affection for him, enough to tolerate all the necessary dog care, but I really thought my affection would be more of an off-shoot of Garion's affection. Not so. He follows me around everywhere I go and sleeps on my feet and I can no longer imagine life without a dog. 6 months--that's all it took.

7. My neighbors have chickens. Based on my understanding of the zoning ordinances and my extensive knowledge of chicken physiology, they are Outlaw Chickens. I can see them from my office window and hear them clucking around all day and I am COMPLETELY jealous. Maybe I will just get chickens and not tell Moses, and, probably, he wouldn't even notice. I'd keep them on the side of the house where he never goes and when they cluck and squawk, I will just blame the noise on the neighbor's chickens!

8. Last weekend we went camping with good friends and I absolutely love having friends who understand the very important skill of social reading--sitting around in proximity to other people while reading and not having to engage in conversation because it is not necessary to talk all the time.

9. Despite a ridiculously late start, I managed to grow tomatoes this year. Yay!! I cannot make them turn red. Boo!!

10. I am reading a book to Garion in which the main character pseudo-swears by saying "brussel sprouts!" I like this. I am going to adopt this.

11. Brussel sprouts! I'm only a couple of months away from 35 and therefore only 5 years away from 40 and, brussel sprouts!, this life thing is going too fast and I would like my money back please.