Missing Mike

               Nine years ago my brother Mike and his giant slobbery dog Nellie came for Christmas.  Mike didn’t believe in breaking a dog’s spirit through obedience training.  Nellie was a good-natured beast with tons of play energy.  She and our elderly mutt Ginny got along just fine.  However, when one of our cats would peak around the kitchen corner Nellie would explode in a thunderous bark attack.  Mike politely held onto her collar, heaving against her lunges, to avoid a blood bath.

               Around twilight the house filled up with a small group of in-laws and a few friends who joined us for our traditional Christmas Eve barbecue and an evening filled with clumsy animal antics, torn wrapping paper and laughter.  His gifts to the girls were always unconventional – that year an assortment of red, green and white 4 foot ropes neatly finished off on the ends which they STILL play with today. Late in the evening after company left and the mess contained, Mike helped put out the cookies for Santa and he and Nellie went to sleep on the futon downstairs. The kids went to bed and we all dreamed of sugar-plums prancing.

               Christmas morning Mike and Nellie joined us under the tree to watch the little girls squeal in delight over their Santa gifts – fancy new mermaid and historical dolls.  Nellie’s habit of unpredictably lunging at whatever caught her eye kept our oldest, most skitterish daughter on edge, so Mike was sure to keep this lanky pooch within his own arms reach.   Yet I can still hear that devilish giggle from him each time the dog lurched, causing Delaney to clutch her new doll in fright.  After an indulgent breakfast Mike and I took our dogs on a long, soaking walk in the Bellingham rain.  All four of us were dripping wet down to our skin by the time we returned home. 

Once they dried off, Mike and Nellie piled into his car and took off down the road.  Later we met up again at our parents’ house for more indulging in presents, food and family.  A pleasant and unremarkable Christmas, the kind so many of us take for granted each year.

Then, eight years ago sometime in mid-December Mike called late one evening, as was his habit, just to let us know that he and Nellie had broken out the Charlie Brown Christmas music and were decorating their Christmas Rock.  We were busy wrestling the kids to bed and let the machine take the call.  I could hear the tinkling piano music in the background of the phone recording.

I made a mental note to call him back soon to reiterate the invitation to come for Christmas.  He was a bit of a holiday nomad, so you were often unaware if he was coming until the moment he knocked on the door.  But this was full-on Nutcracker season and we were buried in tutus, ballet shoes and very tired little girls.  I didn’t get a chance to make that call.

Mr. Stone, the sixth-grade teacher, had been fighting a bug and entered Winter Break feeling poorly.  With his girlfriend on a business trip and his own stubborn independence, Mike declared the next couple of days as his own to rest up.  Those couple of days passed and his quiet became suspiciously silent.  Meningitis had swooped in and taken Mike from us.  Nothing could fix it or change anything.  Our sailing, mountain climbing, biking and hiking Mike was gone.

I had learned two important things.  One was that you don’t leave someone who doesn’t feel well all alone to get better.  The other was that you sometimes don’t get second chances to talk to someone who matters.  I’d like to say that my life has changed for the better and now I am the Diva of Keeping in Touch…but I’m not.  I try a little harder, but my efforts are still kinda lame.  And I still miss my brother terribly.

I’m not a resolution-y kind of person, so I’m not going to declare that 2014 will be the Year of Keeping in Touch.  But maybe I’ll call someone today, just to say hello.

I Run, Therefore I Am...a Runner!

     The question that makes me want to stamp my feet and scream the most is, “Oh, how many marathons have you run?”  This is that inquiry that inevitably comes from the mouth of the new acquaintance who just found out that I like to run.  It doesn’t matter if this person runs themselves, has another sport that occupies their time, or even if they’re the good ol’ couch potato type that prefers knitting to sweating.  I cannot count how many times I’ve had this conversation.

      When I politely answer, “None,” the next question is stated in future tense, “Do you plan to run a marathon?”  I say, “No.”  At that point there is usually the awkward pause that I feel the need to fill with an explanation.  There are several rationales that I can share, but my pride usually wins and I feel the need to say that “Yes, I have run over 26 miles on the trails during a training run.  But No, I have not run a marathon “race” in which I received a number, finisher’s medal and official time.”  If that isn’t enough I sometimes mention that pounding every step of 26.2 miles on pavement while navigating through hundreds of bodies is not my idea of an enjoyable outing.

     The person may respond with, “Don’t you want to do one just so you can say you did?”  Sometimes I get defensive or cranky and feel like saying, “Of course I could but I don’t want to!”  or “Hey honey, let’s take this outside!   Lace up your shoes and I’ll kick your b*** in a 5k right now!”

      When it comes down to it, anything I say sounds like an excuse and I leave the conversation feeling like a loser, my new acquaintance convinced that I must be a jogger or a poser without the 26.2 credential.  The fact is I don’t need a race number and a PR to quote to make me proud of my sport.  I resent anyone who implies that I can’t be a real runner without the so-called pinnacle race, The Marathon, on my resume.   Of course it could be that I am overly-sensitive.   These people are most likely making polite conversation and not passing judgment about my athletic ability. 

      The simple truth is that I love to run.  I love the physical challenge of climbing a hill with nothing but my legs and lungs to carry me.  I love getting out in nature during a rain storm and feeling the rain drip down my face.  I love having been on the mountain for two hours before most people have read their Sunday paper.  I love the long and meandering conversations with my buddies while we weave through the woods.  I love that chill that comes on after I’ve finished a hard run and the sweat cools on my back. 

      Although running does not require racing, occasionally I will sign up for a trail race or shorter road race to test my mettle.  Afterward I’m always glad I did.  But all I really need for a purely joyful experience is a pair of good shoes, my dog (human company not required, but always enjoyed) and a lovely trail.

      I run, therefore I am…a Runner.  I don’t need to prove that to anyone!  And don’t ask me about my marathon PR, thank you!

(This essay originally appeared in the December issue of Northwest Runner)

It Ain’t Rocket Science

               Recently a friend challenged me to come up with my entire parental philosophy (and philosophy of life – as those seem interchangeable) in 30 characters or less.  A quote from the late Nobel Prize winning ‘Jack of all Physics’, Richard Feynman, came to mind: “What do you care what other people think?”  Mr. Feynman was not only a brilliant Rocket Scientist, but a raucous, rebellious and fun-loving character.  He used that quote as the title of his second memoir in which he explains, among other things, how he flamboyantly demonstrated the failure of the O-rings from the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster in front of the presidential Rogers Commission using a simple glass of ice-water and pliers.  He was a different kind of thinker and not afraid to show it. The way Mr. Feynman lived his life and reflected on it inspired me from a young age.

              Therefore, if I had to define my philosophy in a few words, I would steal that quote and add one thing.  (Yes, I’m aware that I’m already over the 30 character limit by 4 measly letters, so I’m going to go for broke here.)  “What do you care what other people think…as long as you’re up to good?”  That’s only 54 letters, yet they pack a whole-lotta meaning.

               First of all, if someone is up to NO good, they should certainly be looking over their shoulder, worried about who may see, who may judge, who may call them on the trouble-making.  A pang of guilt will and should make a person suspicious of what others are thinking.  That cloud of remorse around one’s head can make the world seem a darker place.

However, if you are up to good in your life then you should not be concerned about who is watching, whether observers approve or even if they want to pick a beef with you.  Because you are doing good things in the world and the judgers can go and gossip or stress-out about it all they want.  Not your problem.  At all.

               I believe that your only job is to live life with integrity.  Consciously choose the path that will leave you with a sense of pride in your heart at the end of the day.  Making gobs of money to buy trivial things will not soothe the soul or bring happiness.   Fashion and trends may be impressive to some, but have nothing to do with the good feelings that come from helping others, conserving resources or generally making the world a pleasant place. 

               How do we better ourselves and the world?  Make conscious choices.  Spread smiles any way you can.  Talk to the retired couple walking their dog – make friends.  Slow

down and help the guy in the electric cart at the grocery store to reach the frozen vegetables on the top shelf, rather than grumbling to yourself that he’s in the way.  Be silly.  Find joy and the joy will become contagious.

               Speaking as a self-admitted social dork with a reasonably good heart, I don’t worry about the judgment of others.  Because if I did, I would be living in a constant state of geek paranoia.   I love the quote from FDR presidential advisor Bernard Baruch, “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”  Although these words were originally referring to seating arrangements at the dinner table, it is oozing with greater meaning in life.  To me it means that if someone will avoid me because I’m a harmless goofball, then they have my blessing to take a wide berth!

               Well, this turned out to be a really long explanation of a phrase that was supposed to stay under 30 characters.  Mary - I know I exceeded the limit, but I was able to keep it to 670 words!?  Even though my parental philosophy/philosophy of life stretched out to be ridiculously verbose, it’s certainly not rocket science.

               What would you boil your philosophy down to?  (In 30-50 or so characters, please!)

P.S.  This 30 character game apparently sprang from Mary’s son’s request for a meaningful quote from his Mom to have inscribed on his graduation ring.  Awesome.   I guess my kids should shop for a much larger piece of jewelry to commemorate their own graduation!

Old-School Snow-Hope

               Once upon a time we knew what we knew.  We knew that our faces and fingers would freeze when we went outside, and we could look at the sky and look for clouds darkening the blue sky.  And we had hope.  For us little kids, a heart bursting with hope that those beautiful geometric flakes would soon flutter down to cover the ground for sledding.  And cancel school.

               I grew up in a time before cable television and personal computers.  We did not suffer from the lack of The Weather Channel or a plethora of weather websites or apps to check every two-and-a-half minutes.  I did, however, check the thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window often during a cold-snap.  I would keep an eye on the horizon for incoming clouds, hopefully dark and fat, promising glorious fluffy flakes.

               Even the old-school forecasters had their hands tied to a certain degree.  Satellite imagery didn’t exist and the multiple international computer models that currently monitor the weather patterns were, frankly, science fiction!  The weather-guys of my youth depended upon data from various weather stations, using numerical probability and observation to give us their best guesses.  The lack of certainty kept hope alive.

               To receive these not always accurate prognostications you had to read the morning newspaper, catch the nightly news or listen to radio broadcasts.  There were no up-to-the-minute weather apps on your mobile phone to inform you of the slightest variation in the forecast.  Compared to today’s technology, there wasn’t a whole lot of certainty to these forecasts.  Mostly, you kept a hopeful heart and daydreamed about the snow people to be built while sharpening the blades on your toboggan.

               This week of frigid temperatures and murmurings about snow has raised and dashed the hopes of myself and my daughters over and over again.  The long-term forecasts mention the possibility and we squeal with delight, only to have our joy dampened by the darned way-too accurate computer models that tell us that the chances have dwindled.  Each chance of cold clashing with clouds is grabbed from our hands before we can make a snowball.  Rather than joyfully anticipating the days off from school, we are long-faced with disappointment as the websites replace the snowflake graphics of the future with pictures of sloppy rain drops.

               The fact is we know too much.  Technology and science have taken away the thrilling suspense that comes with winter cold and the sweet possibility of snow play.  I think I need to stop reading the forecasts from the National Weather Service, checking all of the blogs and sites and go with some old-fashioned hope.  Tonight I will again don my PJs inside out, place a spoon under my pillow and dream of lofty white fluff.  That’s all I can do.

Master Staters-of-the-Obvious

               “Ms. Stone, you are wearing a skirt today!” 

               “Why, yes I am, Sarah.”

               When working with children, this is a fairly typical conversation.  The child makes an obvious statement and you try to respond without sarcasm.  After bumping into a student out in the real world I guarantee the child will start out the next school day with, “I saw you at the store!”  Even though I so badly would love to reply, “That was an imposter who stole my car and clothes.  I was in Hawaii.”  I won’t, because little humans tend to be gullible and it wouldn’t be very nice to confuse their little minds.  Instead I say with manufactured enthusiasm, “I saw you, too!”

               Never is this talent of the young for stating the obvious more apparent than when snowflakes start falling from the sky.  You should try it next time there is a snow flurry.  Just find a reason to stop by your nearest elementary school to watch and listen.  On second thought, maybe not…especially if you are a stranger to the school and might be pegged as a creeper. But if you have a real reason to hang out with kids when snow starts falling you’ll see what I mean.

                Yesterday afternoon we had that rare excruciatingly exciting event.  “It’s snowing.  It’s SNOWING!” I am certain I heard that two-word phrase squealed over a thousand times in a span of 30 minutes…and if you don’t count the times it came out of MY mouth, the number would still be in the triple digits.  We all get excited when it snows, but it seems the child needs to say it over and over and over again to make sure it is real – kind of like pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

            Thankfully there were only a few short minutes left in the school day so no serious learning was interrupted.  The librarian, while wrapping up a lesson on research was working with a small group, looked up to see the rest of the first grade class lined up at the window, chanting the phrase.  Two-and-a-half seconds later her small group had joined the chanting and Mrs. C knew she had lost them for the day.  She simply walked over to the non-fiction section, raised her voice to be heard over the chatter and pointed out the section of books on “SNOW.”  What else can you do?  Nobody competes with snow.

            A third grade teacher reported that when the “It’s SNOWING!” cacophony began in his classroom, one boy pointed to the large wall calendar adorned with images of trees covered in white and said matter-of-factly, “Of course it’s snowing.  It’s December, isn’t it?”

            I watched as several pairs of students galloped through the halls squealing the words to every face in sight.  As a playground supervisor came in the front doors with a sloppy layer of white slush blanketing her shoulders and hat, a pair of second graders shouted to her, “It’s SNOWING!  It’s SNOWING!” 

She couldn’t resist the sarcasm and answered dramatically, “Really?”  The kids didn’t seem to mind.  They just gazed out the windows with gigantic grins.

We often giggle at the naivety of children.  We scoff at their simplistic view of the world.  When children make such obvious observations, we smile with the adult superior smirk of wisdom.  But I think these wide-eyed young’uns are smarter than we are.  As we grow up and become mature and respectable adults we lose the ability to find pure joy so easily, to get completely lost in the moment.  I dare all of you “grown-ups” to let loose next time you see the first snowflakes.  I want to hear a big, deep, adult chorus of “It’s SNOWING!”

Waiting for Snow

               Did you hear?  The weather prognosticators mentioned the S-Word in the forecast (the white stuff, of course) and we are giddy here in the Pacific Northwest, where winter is a long, green and grey slog through wet.  These occasional cold-snap breaks in the mossy weather pattern bring a welcome bright-blue-frigid sky and hopefully white stuff in which to play.  Snow days for children and sledding for hours on end come rarely around here and are celebrated by the young and young at heart.

               I feel sorry for the Snow Humbugs who feel the need to gripe and grumble about slippery roads and cold toes.  I know that many have reasons to complain – they have a long car commute or own a small business that will be dinged by the less passable roads.  But I hope they try to see the upside.  The sparkly, beautiful, crisp upside.

               Along with battening down the hatches for the frigid Nor’eastern winds that will be a-blowin’, here are some other preparations you need to make before the snow and cold arrive:

1.       Wear your favorite pajamas on each night of possible snow INSIDE-OUT!  It is imperative.  This will help our chances for a good layer of fluffy frozen pure-joy on the ground.

2.      Some say, though I haven’t tried it, to flush an ice cube down the toilet or sleep with a spoon under your pillow.  Not sure about the logic there, but whatever helps!

3.      Stock up on hot chocolate makings…duh.

4.      Hang your white shimmery lights outside to illuminate the coming freeze.

5.      AFTER you’ve witnessed the first flakes falling, play the song “Skating” (#7) from the Charlie Brown Christmas album.  The music is the sound of snow falling, believe me!

6.      DO NOT get your sleds out until the snow is beginning to whiten the landscape.  You don’t want to jinx anything.

7.      Enjoy the magic blanket EVERY MINUTE, because you know it won’t last.  Go for a walk.  Gaze at the flakes falling while you sip your coffee.  Sled and sled and sled!  Build a snow family.  Have a neighborhood potluck barbeque while you sled (those are the BEST!) and don’t miss a minute.

Some people itch for snow.  I get hives.  We Snow Maniacs are prepared and getting excited!  My family has battened down the hatches in preparation for the coming cold snap. We have set up our snowman idolatry in their proper shrines and will be sleeping with our jammies inside-out for the coming week.  Will you?