Never too old

I sent off a quick e-mail to a friend today, and it included this line: "You are never too old to go on vacation with your dad."

The line was in reference to the fact that, on Sunday, I leave for Disney World with my father and my sister Pat. Next week, Jenn will join us. Because, let's face it, there's nothing better than being in the Happiest Place on Earth with The Man.

But as I wrote the words, the truth of it sorta settled over me. "You are never too old ... "

I'm living proof of not mistaking age for maturity, or the number of years I've been on the planet as a reason to stop, or slow down, or to wind down in the least. No, actually, as I rack up points on my Frequent Birthday card, I seem to actually ratchet up the intensity of life. Because you are never to old. To discover friends who become family. Take up a new habit, or get rid of an old one. Try a new hairdo. Get an education. Trust in your dreams. Play in the sand. Eat cereal for dinner. Giggle. Try your best and fall, then get back up and keep trying.

It's what kids do all the time. And there's no reason, other than giving up, to ever stop.

Blogger is stupid, but I am thankful

I had this beautiful Thanksgiving post written, and Blogger crashed. Usually it auto-saves. This time? No. Poop on you, Blogger.

It will have to be enough for you to know that I am grateful for lots of things, and I have lots of wonderful Thanksgiving memories. Like eating at our neighbors' house (mostly dessert) when I was a kid and the Great Peacock Rebellion of 1991. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I am so ready for it to be here.

The days are becoming darker, grayer and colder here in Chicagoland, and I'll be putting my best efforts toward not being a big jerk about it. Please be patient; this "not losing my shit every winter" thing is new to me.

There's lots of travel on my horizon in December, so perhaps I'll get my sunshine elsewhere. I will update when I can, and when I have something worthwhile to say.

In the meantime, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. May you be surrounded with love.

And pie.

Southwest weekend

Unless you've only recently crawled out of bed after a week-long nap, you know that I spent last weekend in one of my favorite places in the world: Tucson. Autumn is the perfect time to visit the Southwest. You never know what you're gonna get, weather-wise, but it's generally guaranteed to be a little warmer than home (and this year, it was only just a little!) and always sure to provide amazing cuisine. The place I stay also provides a whole lot of love.

Sometimes the canine kind. This is me with my desert dog, Pork Chop. I love him. (As if you couldn't tell.)
I arrived late on Friday night. My flight landed at about 10 p.m., and my best friend Mike picked me up at the airport. There is just something about being met at baggage claim by someone who loves you that just makes my heart glow. If it hadn't been late, there would have been three people meeting me - Rae and Kaylee, too - but a hug from Mike was enough to make me tear up.

The desert, for the record, smells amazing. Being there, though it's far away, always makes me feel at home.

Saturday morning dawned bright and early, even though I slept through my alarm. Thankfully, Racheal woke me up and pointed me toward Sahuarita and their pecan festival ... which included the 3.7 mile Nut Run I was registered for. Awesome run. Wanna read more? Click here.

That's me and Rae, pre-race. We are adorable. The race itself wound through the Green Valley Pecan Orchard. Yes, this photo is blurry; I was running, for heaven's sake! It was an absolutely beautiful run.

Look! A clear photo! Mountains in the distance; just beautiful.This is my sweet niece, Kaylee, on a pony ride. I find her heartbreakingly adorable.

Kaylee, feeding bunnies.
Mike, feeding a donkey.

Moo. Cute, and delicious.Rae, Kaylee and Mike on our hayride. This was a REAL hayride. Pulled by big horsies, through the pecan orchards.

Dude in a real Stetson driving the horsies.

Did I mention that Kaylee got her face painted?

One of the few photos I have of Mike where he's not making a face. He looks sweet and thoughtful here; this is how I actually know him.

Big horsies.

Kaylee wants to be a farmer when she grows up. She also wants to marry two boys. Mike and Rae are in for a world of hurt when The Girl grows up.After the pecan festival, we went out for Mexican food. Carrrrne asada. YUM.

I think my dog looks like Walter Matthau.

We had an awesome visit, but as usual, time passed too quickly. We spent the day Sunday lazing around the house, as Mike had caught a bit of Death Plague and was not feeling well. We used that as an excuse to stay in our jammies until afternoon (when the Trianos took me, Kaylee and Rae out to lunchfast. It's so nice meeting old friends for the first time!) and just hunker down together. I like being the person who comes to visit and just becomes part of the household. I don't need to be entertained; I just need to be family. That's nice.

Monday morning came too fast, and I headed out for a final desert run. I took Pork Chop with me, and loved the feeling of running in this beautiful place, with my buddy at my side.

The view along my run.

More mountains, in the distance. Perfect blue sky.

To say that I miss that place, those people ... that's an extreme understatement. But it's nice, too, to spend time effortlessly, knowing that soon we'll all be together again.

Martha, Laverne and Shirley

Okay, my friends ... first of all, last night I got to meet this woman: Martha freaking Stewart

It was like having a visit from the Mother Ship. Yes, I am a bit starstruck/awestruck/giddy. Martha talked about her new book (at 432 pages, it also makes a nice weapon) Martha's Entertaining and gave the audience some wonderful advice, both for in the kitchen, and in life. So I guess I'll be determining what will be my "signature" dish (I don't think grilled cheese sandwiches fit the bill) is, and perfecting it.

The highlight of the evening, though, was spending time with my sister, Jenn. She is freaky awesome. I love her. Letting the two of us loose in Chicago's Standard Club was truly like an episode of Laverne and Shirley. You should have seen us in the bathroom; you'd've sworn it was the first time we've seen indoor plumbing. (And that was before Jenn accidentally washed her hands with mouthwash.)

Jenn and I, in the opulent loo at the Standard Club.

We had a blast. Between dining on "heavy hors d'oeuvres" (which I'm sure resulted in a heavy hindquarter) and sucking down as many pomegranate cosmos as possible, we enjoyed every moment of the evening. (Could someone please tell me what kind of cheese that was?)

We noshed on olives and cheeses and breads and dried fruit, pumpkin soup, mini tuna burgers, crab cakes, these little salmon bites with herbed cream cheese ... and that was before dessert. Lemon tartlets, tiramisu "shots", brownie bites ... sweet mother of God.

We ate. We laughed. And then, we got in line to meet Martha. Completely gracious (and with great shoes), Martha greeted us with appreciation, even after a full evening of talking and signing books. We said our hellos and our thank-yous in a matter of seconds, and were on our way, back to the real world. Back to bagels and coffee from a paper cup, instead of cocktails and finger sandwiches.

But as I rode the train back to The Heights, I couldn't help but think, yeah, Martha probably thought we were the coolest people she met all night.

Either that, or she wondered how Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams got in without her knowing.

Oh, brother

If you're lucky, you are born into a family that loves you for who you are, nurtures your interests, and expects great things from you, all the time.

If you're really lucky, you meet someone along the way who isn't related to you, but becomes family simply by virtue of doing all that stuff, even though he's not technically family.

I am really lucky.

This weekend, I am headed to Tucson to see my brother Mike. It's confusing, to say the least, that I have not one but two brothers named Mike. The first is my twin, my womb-mate, my brother from my actual mother. The second - Mike Rice - I discovered when I was 28 years old, in Charleston, Illinois, while this late-blooming lunatic was in college at Eastern Illinois University. My friendship with Rice was instant. Our connection, unbreakable. Just like family. As we "grew up" together, I somehow became added to his actual family. Their unconditional love extended to me, as if I'd grown up in that old Victorian house in Jacksonville with the wraparound porch and chicken & dumplings in the kitchen.

I was family. I am family.

Mike and I have been there for each other through life's ups and downs. Weddings, funerals, babies (Mike and Rae's, not mine!) and break-ups (mine, not Mike and Rae's) ... Mike has been there, as has Racheal, his wife (but she was my friend first).

We are the very definition of family.

So it's easy to understand why I simply cannot wait to get on a plane tomorrow night and make my way Southwestward. I go because I love them, and they love me. I go, because when I am with Mike, Rae and their daughter Kaylee, I feel like I am at my very best.

You know that scene at the end of the movie "Love, Actually", in Heathrow airport, when everyone is meeting up? At first, it's all the principals from the film, and it's all romantic and crap. But then, it becomes about all different kinds of love - hugs between parents and children, old friends, families.

I disembark from the plane in Tucson and live my own version of that movie.

In less than 48 hours, I will see my brother, my dear friend and sister-in-law, and my niece. I will soak up the love. So time, if you could pass quickly, that'd be great. Thanks.

An open letter to my physical self

I just wanted to say thank you.

The human body has an infinite capacity to forgive you for not treating it particularly well. For years, I took care of my health in a way that could barely be called taking care of my health. And then, yesterday, I had this turning-point sort of day.

Completing a 15K (that's 9.3 miles to those who don't play in the Metric pool) is not something that's generally done by someone who is unhealthy, or someone who doesn't take care of herself. Running that distance - regardless of pace - is not something that's done by someone who mistreats her body. No, this is the sort of thing that's done by athletes. By runners.

I am one of those people.

So, to my feet, thank you. Thank you for carrying me through the beautiful city of Chicago on a perfect fall morning, for continuing to propel me forward even when you started to hurt. For keeping me upright after the race, so I could walk through the party area and get to the main event - the chocolate! And for the record, to my black toenails, I'm sorry I did this to you again. But really, toenails are for sissies.

To my right Achilles, thank you. Thank you for healing, for standing strong through injury and recovery. It's been a tough road, and I still need to treat you gently and with respect. I am so grateful that you allow me to run. There were moments, earlier this year, when I was convinced it was over. But you rose to the challenge, and you allowed me to work my own little miracle. To go from fat girl to 15K runner in just a few years is pretty amazing. I could not have done it without your cooperation.

To my knees, thank you. I know you didn't like the stairs this morning; I know you still feel every step we took together over the 9.3 miles. I promise to keep doing what you need to stay healthy. Together, we will take off the remaining excess weight. I think we'll both be happier then.

To my legs, thank you. I didn't know how strong you were! After a nice bout of stretching this morning, you groaned only a little and seemed to ask, "what's next?" You have adapted pretty brilliantly to this new activity. You still jiggle, and you probably always will, but I think that's just your way. Under the jiggle, though, there's some badass muscle. You, legs, are pretty amazing. How 'bout a kickbox class to celebrate?

To my core, thank you. Poor abs, you aren't sure what's up, are you? I really had to convince you to work at around mile seven, when my lower back started talking to me. You had to step up and hold it together. You did a great job. We have some work to do, you and I, but you came through like a champ.

To my arms, thank you. Running is pretty easy on you guys, but you kept great rhythm, and you were awesome at waving to people along the way. And without you to hold my iPod, it would have been a long race indeed!

To my heart, thank you. Thank you for giving me the strength and endurance to make it through a long run. But most of all, thank you for opening up and allowing me to embrace and love my running community. Because of you, I have run alongside some of the most beautiful, talented athletes. I have been supported, encouraged and inspired by many more, because somewhere along the way, you decided my life should not be a solitary one. I'm not kidding at all when I say I owe my every physical accomplishment to you.

To my shoulders, thank you. Thank you for bearing my worries and holding up my big head, and for reminding me to stand up straight. Running posture is hard!

Finally, to my mind, thank you. For quieting all the bullshit, for letting me get outside of you and into the moment, for trusting in my ability and my training. Thank you for realizing I needed to change and then ... slowly ... allowing it to happen. Thank you, too, for that amazing runners' high thing. I enjoyed endorphin-induced euphoria pretty much all day yesterday. That alone is enough to get me back out there.

Needy and weak

I've been a little whiney lately. Life sometimes hits rough patches; I get that. But a recent conversation with a friend made me realize something sorta earth-shattering for my wee little mind.

I've been needy lately. I've been weak lately. And every time - and I mean every time - I had a weak moment over the past few weeks, someone has been there to share their strength. Every time I had a need - and again, every time - someone has been there to fill it. It's as if the universe has conspired to show me that it's okay. The world will not stop turning simply because I cannot handle everything on my own. In fact, by allowing myself to be weak, I give someone else the opportunity to be strong for me.

Needy and weak, then, is not necessarily a bad thing. Being where we are on any given day, in any given moment, is precisely where we're meant to be. And if that happens to be a day or a moment in which we're not feeling our best, maybe it's someone else's opportunity to rise to the occasion and lift us up. It's not easy to allow it to happen, but I'm learning that my greatest strength is the collective strength of me + those who love me. In that, I cannot fail.