All Things Must Pass

bostonFor those of you keeping track, yes it’s still officially Sunday as I write this.  I’m really good at this procrastination stuff, in case you can’t tell.

As I sit here and watch the Red Sox try to win Game 2, I recall when the Sox won it all in 2004.  Such an amazing time to be a fan, especially a fan that still had ‘the faith.’  Before it cost money to be a fan (ala Red Sox Nation) and before it cost several hundred dollars for a few folks to go to the game together and go grab a bite before or after.  But I digress.

There are two moments I remember clearly during the playoffs and series in 2004.  The first is just jumping off my chair when the Sox took the series from the Cardinals and hugging my husband.  We were truly blissful that ‘The Curse’ had finally been broken, and we were fans on the winning side.  We got to know those guys almost intimately – Damon, Veriteck, Millar, and of course my main men Pedro, Manny and Big Papi.  That feeling of joy still makes me grin.

The other moment is actually a series of moments, of running home from work with Julia, who was almost four years old at the time, getting her positioned in front of the TV on her own little upholstered chair with the horses on it that Mimi and Papa got her, with a little tray to eat her supper off of, making dinner and watching the game and the child at the same time, each playoff game.  Something to look forward to each night, and Julia went right along with the scurrying around, then the settling down to watch the game with her Mama.  She would cheer for Big Papi and Pedro, mimicking me, taking her queue from her mom, her role model. She loved the game and she loved watching with me, with both of us.  Jeremy worked nights in those days and sometimes Julia would just be going to bed when he got home to his tired, bleary eyed but happy girl.  She was thrilled to see Daddy, but we gals took care of ourselves at night, and she was normally in bed and asleep by the time he got home.

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Wednesday Observation: Running on a Treadmill is SO Different from Running Outside

Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patr...

Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots, Foxboro, Massachusetts, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here I was thinking that running for 22 minutes straight on a treadmill meant that I was physically fit to run my first 5K.  WRONG.  Tonight I decided to see how far I could go on the Smithfield High School Track.  Each lap is either ¼ of a mile or 1/3 of a mile, meaning I need to run between 9 and 12 times straight. 

Well I ran around once.  Then I walked around.  Then I tried to run around again. By the time I finished I ran around about two times and walked around about two times.  So between a mile and a mile and third.  I’m sure all my panting alarmed the elderly gentlemen trotting briskly around the outside lane, as I hugged the inside like my guts were going to fall out.

I am running my first race on July 3 in Foxboro, Massachusetts.  For you New England Patriot fans the race takes you right into Gillette Stadium.  And my darling husband and daughter, who hate to run unless it’s part of a basketball game, agreed to run with me.  Actually they signed me up and decided to join me just in case I began to procrastinate or back out, as only I can, concerning exercise.

So I’m in a bit of a pickle now, because I have about 6 weeks to train to do 5K without dropping dead. 

I am not a runner at heart.  I like to cycle, I like to sit in front of the TV even better.  I like to read with a bowl of tasty snacks next to me the best. 

But I need to run.  It’s  the fastest way I can think of to get my exercise done.  There I said it.  And a body in motion stays in motion.  Running is good for my cholesterol, my blood pressure, my weight, my energy level, and my mental attitude.

So it’s time to train, train and train some more.   I got this.

When I told the Crow that I was going to run a race she responded as I thought she would.  “Make sure you don’t fall.  You’ll hurt yourself.”  Ah, encouragement at every turn.  Of course she does worry.  Usually unnecessarily and as often as possible.  One time when Julia was sitting on an ottoman laughing and leaning backward my mother warned, “Watch out, you’ll bite your tongue off.”  She was serious.  Severed tongue through a fit of laughter.  Julia uses that line on me whenever she thinks I’m being over-protective.  It works pretty well, I must say.

Just now I told my daughter that I too was very athletic as a child.  She sat and stared at me, a blank look on her chiseled blond beauty of a face.  She had just spent the evening at basketball practice for the AAU team she plays on.  She’s already made it clear to her father and me that her goal is college hoops and then the WNBA.  She just might pull it off too, who knows?  But I want her to know that not all of her athletic prowess comes from her Dad.

“Really Jules.  I never got any formal coaching, and I only played on one team for one summer.  But I was a really good softball player.  I used to bike for miles on a daily basis, and I wasn’t bad at tennis either.  You don’t believe me do you?”

“Nope.”

I’ll show her.  I hope.

Trying to Process What Happened in Boston with Pickle and Mr. Rogers

Mister Rogers' Neighborhood

Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Trying to Process What Happened in Boston.

Some beautiful thoughts from someone close to the source.  Well done, Joy…

One of the most beautiful thoughts in this post comes from someone I always loved, but is no longer with us.  Now I know why I loved him so as a little girl – and as a not so little girl.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me: ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” ~Mr. Rogers

I Have Angel Potential – and so do You

 

Boston Marathon Bombing Memorial

Boston Marathon Bombing Memorial (Photo credit: AnubisAbyss)

After remaining glued to the TV and radio this past week, watching and listening to the tragedy and then the victory that was Boston  this week, I can’t being envious of all of the bravery, resolve and selflessness I have witnessed.  Because I am frightened.I felt fear just driving down Post Road in Warwick, RI, seeing a young man standing alone with a backpack at his feet,  and then another hunched over, walking alone carrying another dreaded backpack.  When I think of how close this hit home, of the time I have spent in Boston working, and playing these past thirty-odd years, of the people who I’ve discussed this with on-line or in person who comment that this is so scary.  Julia, Jeremy and I drove by the Watertown Mall en route to a basketball tournament three weeks ago.  And I sit amazed at the selflessness of those Boston Marathon first responders, of the marathon volunteers who didn’t think twice about themselves.   I fear that if tested, I may not display such bravery.   

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Are your Aging Parents or Elderly Clients Depressed?

Aging

Aging (Photo credit: K. Kendall)

Are your Aging Parents or Elderly Clients Depressed?.  This article is fascinating and something for all of us who have aging parents.  Keeping active is key.