The Running Spirit

While in Boston, I had the opportunity to run a 5k which was the day before the big marathon. It started in downtown Boston, wound through the city streets and ended at the same finish line as the marathon. The finish line is a permanent marking in the pavement in Boston, and is clearly a pretty historic place to be as a runner. How could I say no?

So Sunday morning while the rest of the family slept, I got up early and took a cab to get as close to Copley Square as possible. (I would've taken a shuttle but they weren't running at 6:00 in the morning.) I had plenty of time to walk around, grab a bagel and a water, and sit on the steps of a church and take in the sights.

Many of the runners were doing the marathon the next day; this was just their final warm-up run before the big day. The start line for the 5k had markers for people who wanted to run a 5-minute, a 6-minute, and a 7-minute mile. After that, it was an open line-up. Like that's not intimidating.

Pretty soon we were off, and it was a great run. I only walked at the water stops and at one point had to walk up a hill, because so many people ahead of me had started walking that I had no choice but to walk as well. We ran past churches that were probably 400 years old, and historic centuries-old buildings juxtaposed against modern glass skyscrapers behind them.

I completed in 35:35, my fastest 5k time. It was awesome coming across the finish line with the spectator bleachers full of people yelling and clapping for people they don't know. People with marathon shirts were out cheering on their friends or family members. Those spectators were probably going to be running the marathon the next day, but still came down to cheer on others whose goals were not as lofty as their own.

I got my medal, my goodie bag and then headed back down to the finish, as I wanted to make sure I took a good look at it. They were already taking up the chip mat at the finish, as it had been over an hour since the race had begun. But suddenly, from beyond the finish line, you could hear the crowd roar -- there was one more runner coming in. The volunteers quickly put down one portion of the mat again so the runner could get his official chip time, and then he came into view.

He was a middle-aged man who was very overweight. He wasn't going much faster than a walk but was definitely running in short, slow steps. You could see him gasping for breath -- this was clearly a difficult cardiac feat for him.

The crowd went wild.

The encouragement and cheers that this man received were probably as loud as the Boston marathon winner as he crossed the finish line. It was so inspiring to see someone work so hard for his goal, and to see so many people respond positively to his efforts. He crossed the finish line and had several people clap him on the back with congratulations on a job well done.

That was the highlight of that race for me.

Traveling with the Team

I have a glimpse of what it would be like to travel with an athletic team. Not a group easily recognizable by 90% of Americans, but maybe a team locally known but somewhat recognizable by a wider subset of people.

The security line on the way to Boston was filled with people wearing five-fingered shoes, carrying workout backpacks with gels stuck in the outside pockets, studying the latest weather forecast for Monday in Boston. Which got worse every day, by the way. But more on that later.

One piece of luggage took longer than the others to get through the security screening. Lindsey and I stood there and patiently waited and waited for it to come through, and finally the TSA agent, who was looking at the contents of the bag on his screen, looked and us and said, "What are you doing with cowbells in your luggage?" He smiled as he let the luggage finally slide all the way out to where we could reach it.

We had a layover in Chicago, and nearly everyone on our flight to Chicago had a final destination of Boston. We ran into other people from Wayne's running club who also had layovers in Chicago....but were not on either of our flights. The airport was filled with people wearing blue and yellow finisher jerseys from prior years, or with the orange and black gear from the 2012 marathon.

Reverse this on the way back.

Everyone's big event is complete. Even more orange and black or blue and yellow is seen throughout the airport. From the security line to the shuttle bus to the people sitting in the terminal, anybody would come up to someone else wearing the colors. The camaraderie was incredible.

"How'd your run go?"

"Congratulations on your run."

"How was the heat?"

Oh yeah, back to that.

The week before we left for Boston the forecast for race day was a high of 78. Unseasonably warm, but doable.

Crowd shot of runners and spectators at mile 17.

A few days later it was adjusted to a high of 82. Then 84. Then eventually 87. Only on Monday, of course, it was going to be a bit cooler the day before AND after actual race day.

Wayne's hopes of running a fast race went out the window. He adjusted his plans, wisely, to simply enjoying the experience and stay hydrated.



Wayne at mile 17, grabbing some coconut water and ice.

He completed the race in 4:04, his slowest marathon ever. It was 84 degrees at the start and 89 degrees at the finish. But he finished on his feet and was able to function later in the day, which was more than others could say.

Wayne said that some of the best help on the course came from the spectators. For much of tbe race the runners are going through small towns, running right in front of people's houses. They were setting their sprinklers out to spray the runners, handing out oranges or popsicles or beers. (Not that the beer would help hydrate runners, but at least you wouldn't CARE you were in the med tent.) Where we were standing at mile 17, homeowners had pulled out their garbage and recycling cans for everyone to pitch into.

It was fantastic to be a part of something so big, even if from the sideline.

Wordless Wednesday: Beautiful Girls on a Beautiful Day

Taken at a park near Jonesboro, Arkansas.

Hannibal, MO

On the way back from my dad's place in Arkansas we stayed over once more in Hannibal, MO, boyhood home of Mark Twain, or Sam Clemens, as he was known as a kid.
I had wanted to tour Mark Twain's home on our way down, but the desire to arrive at our destination by dinner hour was more pressing, so we spent time on the way back to Minnesota.

Last year I read Mark Twain's autobiography...Volume 1. And in case you didn't know, Mark Twain's works today continue to stir readers up, with some parents and other groups advocating to change the most derogatory word in his classic books (it starts with an "n") with more acceptable terms, while purists believe we should leave well enough alone.  He insisted that his autobiography not be published until 100 years after his death, out of concern that his progressive ideas would bring retribution to his family.

Outside of his views, Mark Twain had a way to paint a picture with words, and his witticisms were intelligent, satirical and are widely quoted yet today. As he aged his sentimentality over his boyhood roots grew.

The introductory plaque before entering Mark Twain's home

I loved that his home was presented with Mark Twain's own words when he toured his own home as an adult. He had already become famous, his works well-known and his company in great demand. He had become a confidant to President Grant, had met world leaders and toured the nation and the world speaking. But he was brought to tears by the sight of his old home and of the streets of Hannibal, MO.



I love this quote -- don't we all feel like this as we move through life?

Hannibal has remained a small river town, though they have clearly capitalized on their renown as Mark Twain's hometown. The streets slope down to the river and are met by a large berm to hold back the flood waters (that part is probably new since Mark Twain's time). While cars have replaced the horse and buggy, the streets are still lined with many of the original buildings built in the 1830's and 40's, all now on the historical register and well-preserved, home to businesses that would have made Mark Twain chortle.

This building was erected in 1839...and is now home to Groomingdale's, a pet boutique.

Huck Finn's home was preserved as well -- wait, you say, wasn't Huck Finn a fictional character? Yes, but he was based very closely on Mark's boyhood friend, Tom Blankenship. The Blankenship family was poor and lived in a small one-room house on the edge of town. It's hard to believe that a family with 9 children resided there.

Huck Finn's home

Inside Huck Finn's home. So tiny!

The Mark Twain museum brought to life five of his most famous novels, and on upper floors of the museum you could view the original collection of art that Norman Rockwell completed depicting scenes from his books. Some became Saturday Evening Post covers, others were done simply to honor a great American author.

The museum did a great job of creating interactive parts for kids, but Mark Twain's fame and works are still lost on our girls. Some day they will understand his importance in American literature, and hopefully they will go back.

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn

I'll close with one of my favorite quotes, still relevant today.

Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.

Four States South

On our way to my dad's place I realized I have never crossed the Minnesota border into Iowa.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

Guess what -- it looks a lot like Minnesota. We drove through Mason City, Waterloo, Keokuk and then to Missouri. We stayed over in Hannibal, Missouri, boyhood home of one of my favorite American authors, Mark Twain.

After two days of driving we reached our destination -- a little log cabin in Paragould, Arkansas.

It was such a change of pace for us -- so peaceful and quiet. I loved hearing the birds in the morning, the crickets in the evening. The cabin was always filled with a woodsy scent, mingled with coffee and cooking smells.

My dad and stepmom were such gracious hosts. My stepmom stocked the trailer where we stayed with art projects, crayons and paper for the girls, and we enjoyed many home-cooked meals.

We went to the nature center in Jonesboro one day, and learned about Crowley's Ridge, a geological area covering miles of Missouri and Arkansas. We saw snakes in terariums and in the wild, and the girls got to try their hand at duck and goose calls.

The girls played with the dogs. They explored the property with my dad, which was so sweet to see. They rode around the property on Turfy, a golf cart Dad and Terry own, and swung in the hammock.

On our last day the girls took individual trips in to town with one of the grandparents, during which time they were utterly spoiled and got just about anything they asked for. (Thank goodness Terry knows where the Dollar General store is.)

Best of all, our kids got to know their grandparents. Lindsey chatted her grandpa's ear off one day, and Marissa naturally gravitated to Terry, asking her about her favorite color, holiday, hobbies, etc.

It was a visit well worth the drive. We'll be doing it again, I'm sure.

In A Picture

I took 244 pictures over the past week.

Oh I'm sorry, didn't I tell you what we did this past week?

Our family of four packed up the car and drove for two days. We arrived in Arkansas, home of my dad and stepmom. We stayed for 3 days, and spent two days driving back home.

What can I say, it was a ball. The girls were incredibly well-behaved the entire way down, our greatest fear and a big reason why we hadn't made the trip earlier in their young lives. My dad expressed to me his concerns before we arrived that there wasn't "enough to do" at their place. He follows me on Facebook, he reads my blog, he knows how much we pack into our lives living in a metropolitan area like the Twin Cities.

We learned that all we really need is a few wooded acres and two big dogs.

If I had to sum up our experiences in one picture, this would be the one, of the 244 that I took.



It says everything about the week.

But of course, I can't leave it there, so more blog posts on the trip will be forthcoming. But this photo sums it up.

Some day this will be really, really funny

Last week Wayne and I had an appointment to meet with our banker to sign some papers. Nothing big, just some standard stuff to take care of.

The banker could meet us at any branch, we just had to name the place and time. Wayne decided it would be best to meet her in downtown St. Paul, closest to my work, because *shocking* I have a tendency to be late to things, and he figured the closer it was to my work the higher the likelihood that I would be on time.

We had a 1 pm appointment in a building 10 minutes away from where I work. Easy peezy.

Wayne drove from Plymouth to St. Paul and was at the bank by 12:20. He called me to tell me he was there and remind me that the street in front of the bank was torn up and I'd have to find an alternate route. He even recommended a parking ramp I could park in. I figured I'd better get going, just in case it took me longer than the 10 minutes that I expected, so I could not annoy my husband who hates my chronic lateness. So I left at 12:25. Plenty of time.

Famous last words.

I drove to the general vicinity of the building. Traffic was horrible, of course, because of all the construction. I happened to see an open street parking spot and took it, knowing that I was only a block or two from the building. I plunked a few quarters in to the meter, knowing I would be back before it ran out.

And then I walked. And walked. And walked six blocks in the COMPLETELY WRONG DIRECTION.

I called Wayne. I asked which building. "The one with 'Wells Fargo' really big on the top," he said.

That's great and all if I were miles away and viewing the St. Paul cityscape from a hill. But I'm on the street, and I can't look up 20 stories into the air.

After walking for a very long time, I finally realized my mistake and that I had gone in the wrong direction from the car. So I walk past the car again (no ticket, meter still good), and walk in the other direction.

This time I find the right building but can't get into it. Apparently I'm supposed to be a business tenant of the building to enter the elevator, and I have to exit the building, go back down the street and to the other entrance to get to where I need to go.

I finally make it, then am guided by cell phone to the correct floor.

Time of arrival? 1:10 pm.

This is the best part.

The only two things I had to do were:

1. Show up on time.
2. Have my ID with me proving I'm me.

I open my wallet to pull out my driver's license, only to see a blank spot where it used to be.

I had put it into the pocket of my jacket when I'd gone out for a walk the evening before, where it still was. I was confident it was still there, in the pocket of the jacket, which was hanging in my office. At my place of business. "Ten minutes" from where I was now located.

Thankfully the banker agreed that if I emailed her a scanned copy of my ID once I returned to the office we could still move forward. Whew!

Actually, this is the best part.

I returned to my car to find a ticket on the windshield. I check the meter, it had run out (surprise!). I look at the ticket. It is NOT for an expired meter.

It is for not parking parallel to the curb.

Sure enough, I had parked partly askance, in my hurry to get to the appointment on time. Which, of course, I wasn't.

Cost? $38.

Wine, anyone?

The Gift

We were given a gift this past weekend. Some day we will look back and say, "Remember that St. Patrick's Day weekend when it was in the 70's all weekend? Crazy!"

So what do you do on a weekend like that? You relish it. You savor every moment. And you document it, so you don't forget.

We made homemade sundaes.

We raced.

Marissa broke in the swing.

While Lindsey tested to see if it still swung as high.



The trees are confused.

The girls played on the front yard.

And snuggled their Build-A-Bear bears.



Dax caught bubbles.

I'm the One in the Green T-Shirt

St. Patrick's Day kicked off with a run for both Wayne and I. He ran the Get Lucky 21k (or half-marathon) in St. Paul, while I ran my first-ever 7k.

What an experience!

I ran with my friend Emily and a group of her friends, six of us in total. They were all very nice and committed to finishing together. My knee didn't start hurting until the 5k mark, which was a victory in my book. I had to run-walk the last 2k, but someone else was doing that as well so we all stuck together.

Wayne completed his half-marathon in record time. Seriously. He finished in 1 hr 30 minutes, or a 6:47 pace. This would re-qualify him for the NYC marathon, if he ever wanted to do that one again.

He headed to Minneapolis after his race and we attempted to meet up at Kieran's Pub, but the line to get in was literally to the end of the block. (Kieran's had been the presenting sponsor of the race and each runner's race bib was a ticket for a free beer.) We ended up meeting at O'Donovan's down the street, which was filled with runners, but not over-packed like Kieran's.

Wayne, Emily and I had a few brews, a plate of fish and chips and listened to some live music.

All before noon.

To top it off, the weather was unbelievable. We hit a record high of 80 degrees. On March 17. In Minnesota.

Last year runners were wearing jackets, hats and gloves, and this year it was a sea of t-shirts, shorts and, of course, green tutus.

Crowd shot of the 2011 Get Lucky 7k.

I've never seen so much green, since people didn't have to cover up their green shirts with jackets.

Emily and I laughed when we heard people around us on phones, trying to meet up with their people. "I'm the one in the green t-shirt," they'd say.

Yeah, you and 7,000 other people!

We decided that next year we're all going to wear pink, to stand out in the crowd.

And the Academy Award Goes to...

The week after the Academy Awards Lindsey's grade held an award ceremony of their own.

The students all had to pick a paragraph to read in front of the entire class. The class would then vote on who read their paragraph with the most expression, the best pronunciation, the least number of stops and so on. Staring only at your paper and speaking in a monotone voice was clearly not recommended.

The other piece of this was that you got to dress for the occasion as if you were going to the Academy Awards, and there would be a best dressed category as well. Pull out your fanciest dress, your suit you wore to Aunt Evie's wedding, you're going to a show!

Guess who was incredibly excited about this? My girl, of course.

Guess who wasn't? Most of the boys. (Heresay, but still, I suspect Lindsey's right.)

Lindsey spent a week planning out what she was going to wear. And she got permission from me to wear the flower girl dress from Travis and Elizabeth's wedding nearly 3 summers ago. It's just aging in a closet, why not? And while the dress is now a tee-length on her, sadly it still zips up around her ribcage, even over a shirt. The girl needs to eat.

She picked out her hair accessories the weekend before, had me paint her nails the night before, and the morning of the big event she asked me to curl her hair.

Curly girl all ready for the show!

Lindsey has about 40 minutes of curling worth of hair.

I wish I could've been there to see it, but I had been absent from work for various other volunteer efforts and concerts of late, I just couldn't justify it. So I had to wait to hear how it went until the end of the day.

Lindsey practically glowed when I picked her up. She had won best dressed! She talked about how everyone "ooo'ed" and "aahh'ed" when they saw her, and some of her girlfriends held up the train of her dress as she walked.

She had such a great time!

You like me! You really, really like me!

I'm Honored...Not Really...

One day this past week a catalog for Melly's plopped in our mailbox. And I can say "plop" -- the thing was probably 2 feet high by a foot wide. I had to have Lindsey hold it so you could get an idea of the scale of this thing.

What a huge catalog!

From a creative perspective, I can say that they did a great job of getting my attention. It's big, colorful and beautiful. But from a direct marketing perspective, they were way off.

There is a Melly's store in the Galleria, an upscale shopping center down France Ave. I am practically within walking distance of the store which I have absolutely no plans of visiting anytime soon.

$288 for a shirt. $468 for a dress. A strapless, summer garden dress that I have no place to go wearing it. $598 for shoes. Shoes, people. Those things that I scuff on the sidewalk the first time I wear them. If I ever spent that kind of money on a pair of shoes I would put them behind glass and make everyone who walked into my house gaze at them like a piece of fricking art.

Lindsey's "Really?!" look. Get used to it, she'll perfect it by her teen years.

I can only imagine that the company was talked into doing a "zip saturation" mailing, where you mail to all households in certain zip codes around your locations, assuming that everyone who lives in those zip codes has the demographics you're looking for in potential buyers.

I'm going to take a stab at Melly's target customer, based on what I remember of the catalog world.

90% women.
Average household income $250,000+
Age range 35-55.
Spends $200/mo on beauty/spa products.
Average order size $350.

This is so not me.

So thanks, I'm honored...kind of. I'm glad you think that I would value your products, but I don't. And I'm pretty sure my 83-year-old widow neighbor down the street who bought her house for $30,000 in 1955 doesn't value your products, either.

Nice try.

Apartment for Rent - CHEAP!

I drive by this house nearly every day on my way home from work. Notice anything strange about it?

Yeah, seems weird to me too.

The ledger boards have been on the home for at least two years now. There are obviously plans to put on some kind of porch or walkway on the second and third stories, but it hasn't been done yet. Which begs the question: Who uses that upstairs door, anyway?

Since the house is divided into three units for rental, I decided to throw this out to my Facebook friends, to write a headline to help sell that upstairs apartment.

I've got some pretty clever friends, let me tell you.

Here's what they came up with:

• Be on top of the world in this very affordable upstairs apartment.
• An upstairs apartment so cozy, you'll never want to leave!
• Enjoy living in comfort and efficiency in this second story flat with walkout monorail access.

One of my friends came up with an ad for a person living in this apartment:

• Single white female seeks relationship with firefighter to carry her away.

Comment below and add your own!

What's a Pineapple Look Like Anyway?

I'm not a big fruit and vegetable eater, never have been. But my kids are getting me to broaden my horizons. Every time they accompany me to the grocery store I end up buying something surprising. Like kiwi fruit. Or plums. Or pears.

And this past week I did one more thing I never thought I'd do; I bought a whole pineapple with the intention of cutting it up at home.

My kids begged me. I'm not kidding.

And so this weekend we tackled the pineapple.

It was fun, with both the girls watching in anticipation to see how tough the outside of the pineapple was, and how the core looks different from the more edible part. They felt the thick, tough leaves, the prickly exterior and couldn't wait to start nibbling.

It was delicious, juicier and firmer than the canned stuff I usually buy. The pieces were disappearing as quickly as I could cut them up.



Next on our list: pomegranate.

Instead of Cartoons

Who needs Phineas and Ferb when you've got an imagination like this?

A Rite of Passage

Lindsey has been asking for technology -- an iTouch, a cell phone, but one thing she hasn't been asking for is earrings. She's asked over the past few years about getting her ears pierced, about whether or not it hurts, how long it hurts, if it hurts every time to clean them or just when you get them pierced...you get the picture.

So I was surprised when a few weeks ago she asked to get her ears pierced.

A couple of her friends have gotten them pierced recently, and she decided to get over her fear of the pain to get hers done as well.

I thought about it a bit and decided she needed to make her bed every morning for a week before she could get them pierced, to show that she could take on some additional responsibility. After all, she would have to clean her ears three times a day for six weeks before taking out her starter set of earrings.

So a couple of Saturdays ago she and I headed out for the mall. She was too nervous to eat lunch beforehand and had butterflies in her stomach, she was both nervous and excited. And when I gave her the option to back out, she was committed.

And so she did it. She picked out green ones, the birthstone for May (same color I got when I had my ears pierced.)



Waiting in anticipation.

She did great and I am so proud of her. And she is diligently cleaning her ears three times, every day.

My little girl is growing up.

WW: The Toys May Change...

...but the scene remains the same.

First photo taken March 2006, second taken February 2012.