Salinger

Everybody's talking about the passing of the great writer J.D. Salinger.  I recently re-read The Catcher in the Rye and I didn't love it the way I did when I was younger.  But what I love about that book is the memory of my mom reading it out loud to me when I was 7 or 8 years old.  It was one of her favorite books and so we cuddled up one weekend in her big, low-to-the-floor water bed in her apartment she shared with Wayne in South Weymouth.  I'm pretty sure she read that entire book aloud to me in a weekend and was I ever captivated!  The subject matter was sophisticated for a little kid, and I loved being treated with such respect.  I loved the coziness of my mom's voice reading to me, the intimacy of the time together and the vivid images in the story.  I still think of the teacher with the vicks vaporub and all the things that made Holden as sad as hell and how he loved his little sister Phoebe.  In third grade (Miss Ellsworth's class...she was so nice and so pretty), we had a book report assignment that involved writing a letter to an author.  I wrote to Salinger and knew he wouldn't write back (my mom told me about his reclusiveness, which I respected).  But I loved writing to him.  The thing is, I really understood that book in third grade, but only because my mom took the time to read it aloud to me and provide explanations as we went along.  I was very lucky.  I've never read anything that sophisticated and with that much patience to my children.

Later, Mom told me about the Glass family and we read Franny and Zooey (often people asked me if I was named after that book, but my name is ZOE, not Zooey.  Duh.).   That book made me want to smoke cigarettes in the bathtub.  And a bit later I read Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction, which remains my favorite.  I loved that Salinger didn't mind using lots of parentheses (celebrated them!) and I loved what he wrote within those parentheses.  As an only child, I loved Buddy's admiration for Seymour and the mystery of Seymour through Buddy's eyes.  I love, love that book and can read it again and again with equal joy every time.  And I love the title of the short story, "For Esme, with Love and Squalor" which is just a perfectly exquisite and romantic phrase.

J.D. Salinger meant so much to so many readers.  Generations grew up reading him, learning about the act of reading and being a reader through his writing.  And so many of us talked to each other about his writings,  connected with his characters and with one another because of his work.  Our lives were made richer and more textured through the reading, the stories, the characters and artful simplicity of the writing.  This is the legacy of a great artist.  Thank you J.D and thank you Momma.

Henekis is 30

Happy Birthday!

Wherein I Change Around the Furniture

Much better for the nightly dance parties.

The Play List

The first long run of the training cycle was wonderful today.  And I was very happy with my playlist.  I didn't get through it all and I can't believe there is no Tom Petty or Big Head Todd or Spearhead.  But there will be plenty of time over the next 17 weeks to adjust and modify the long run playlist.  And "Take the Long Way" by Po'girl showing up twice is  no mistake; I've considered making a playlist of just that song, I love it so.  I welcome your recs for good running tunes.

Asking Too Much Ani DiFranco
Silo Song  Chris Pureka
Boom Boom Pow  Black Eyed Peas
Take The Long Way  Po' Girl
Yeah!  Usher
Skinny Love  Bon Iver
Volcano (Live)  Damien Rice
Apeman The Kinks
Purple Rain  Prince
The Remedy (I Won't Worry) Jason Mraz
Momentary Thief Chris Pureka
Home To You Po' Girl
Pictures Of You The Cure
Hold On, I'm Comin'  Sam &Dave
Play Your Part (Pt. 1) Girl Talk
15 Steps Radiohead
Lodi Jeffrey Foucault
As Stevie Wonder
Holla!  G. Love
Take The Long Way  Po' Girl
Angelsea Cat Stevens
Locomotive Breath Jethro Tull
Hey Mama Black Eyed Peas
Time  Blind Melon Blind Melon
The Man In Me  Bob Dylan
Blood Bank Bon Iver
Love Song The Cure
Delicate (Live)  Damien Rice

Ready, Set, Go.

The time has come to run another marathon.  This will be my fifth. It has been over a year since the last marathon and I am ready.  The extended holiday season (plus work) was emotionally exhausting and I know, in my heart and body, that the best remedy is to start training.  For Christmas I received Haruki Murakami's book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  He says, "When I'm criticized unjustly (from my viewpoint, at least), or when someone I'm sure will understand me doesn't, I go running for a little longer than usual.  By running longer it's like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent."  And it's not just interpersonal discontent, but all frustration and difficulty that can be purged with a good, long run.

This is my first week of training and I love getting up in the morning with a physical purpose.  I'm not going to push my self the way I did for the last marathon.  Then I did Pfitz's Advanced Marathoning, which, with both a Spring and Fall marathon, lead to burnout.  So I'm going back to good ol' Hal Higdon and won't worry too much about my time (though I would, of course, like to PR).  And I'm going to run a brand new race, which gives me a real adventure to look forward to. I hope to make a fun family weekend out of the May 16th marathon in Maine.

My dear friend and comrade Carolyn is planning to run Sugarloaf as well, and this will be her first marathon. And my old, rediscovered high-school friend Christie is going to run Montreal with me in September.  This will be her first, too!  The season has begun and it feels like a homecoming and it is a delight to bring more new recruits into my cult.  It's so simple and gratifying to follow the schedule, to meet the promise of each dawn on Darling Hill, to spend that big chunk of time in glorious solitude once a week on the long run.  All of it just makes me happy.

An Old Poem

Dear friends of ours just visited for a ski vacation with their young children, which reminded me of this poem I wrote two years ago.  I like it, and it helps me remember that day.

Carving the Turns

That January day

I skied only to be with you

savoring the last few years of your girlhood.

You hushed me on the lift

when I sang

but laughed when

I teased that I'd ask those

boys in the snack bar

for one of their fries.

I tried my best to keep up with you,

babying my old, runner's knees

and admiring your smooth form as you sailed

down the mountain.

Then

just before the last run of the day

we noticed perfectly shaped 

delicate snowflakes

fall on our mittens 

and wondered how it could be true

that no two are alike.

You told me to use my whole

body when I carved my turns

and headed for Willoughby, a high, steep trail.

Taking your lead

I moved from my head to my hips

and felt it;

the groove

one with the slope

thighs burning

flowing

swish

swish

I was eleven

you thirty-six

and I stopped to wait for you.

I asked, "which way?"

You grinned.

"Down!"

You were eleven

I was thirty-six

the afternoon grew dark

we had Willoughby 

all to ourselves

floating in a liminal space

at the edge of change and possibility

our Kingdom lay before us.

January 08