Body Movin'

Seems like time to write something about running, since I spend a lot of time thinking about it, doing it, planning for it and recovering from it.

As I've said elsewhere on this blog, I'm training for my fourth marathon, Montreal, which is September 14th. Montreal was also my first marathon, two years ago.  I guess that's where I first caught the bug.  Running into the Olympic Stadium was a thrill.  Starting on the majestic Jacque Cartier Bridge with more than a thousand other marathoners gave me chills. I have since run the Vermont City Marathon, in Burlington, twice. I was seriously considering running Montreal last year when, just as I was about to start training, this happened and I was laid up for a bit: 

So much for me and bikes.  I'll leave that to my husband who eats, sleeps and breathes cycling. As I write this he is watching the Tour de France.  He loves the Tour.  He says he'd even get on an airplane to be able to ride up some of those mountains.  

Anyway, back to me. Right now I am training harder than ever before and feeling pretty great. It makes me really happy to run 10 or 11 miles before work because it's an accomplishment. I'm especially happy when I can also be productive the rest of the day and not feel exhausted, which is generally how it's been.  In fact, I think I have more energy and pep on the days I do longer runs. I can't imagine a better way to start the day.

Every morning when I run I notice something different. Often it's the way the air smells or the quality of the light, which changes all the time.  Darling Hill is always beautiful, no matter what the season or the weather.  Today I was running on a bridge over the Passumpsic river and I looked down and saw a family of ducks! I've seen moose a couple of times and often see deer. There is an older man in a green pick up truck who drives by me every morning and waves. This has been going on for years. I feel like we're friends and if I ever notice him too late to wave back, I feel bad. Lately there is another runner on my route; a man about my age or a bit younger. He has a nice, friendly smile.  I see him once or twice a week. Often we pass each other going in opposite directions and then he turns around and passes me. He's pretty fast, but I don't think he runs long distaces. Today I passed a runner in Lyndonville. That made me feel fast!

Lately I see lots of black-eyed susans, which are my favorite flower, and that really delights me.  I often plan my long runs to include scenic routes, which isn't hard given where I live. There is a road about 2 miles long called Sugar Maple Lane that only has 2 houses on it and looks down into a green and lush valley. It's spectacular, as is the Kirby Ridge Road. I feel extremely blessed to get to run in these spots, despite all the hills.

I love to run on the trails, but for longer runs, I stick to the roads. When I road run, I usually listen to music. Lately some of my favorite running songs that really pump me up and get me going are Bubble Toes by Jack Johnson, Heartbreaker by the Rolling Stones, Sexual Healing (I have 3 versions; Marvin Gaye, Ben Harper and Soul Asylum. I like them all),  I'll Take You There, by the Staple Singers (ah, Mavis!), The Boogie that Be and Smells like Funk by Black Eyed Peas, any Led Zeppelin, and Body Movin' by The Beastie Boys. Body Movin' always makes me think of my young friend, Baxter, who introduced me to that song a few years ago. It's Baxter's favorite song for a dance party and once it comes on the stereo, you better watch out! Bax can really bust a move. My all time favorite running song (and maybe even all time favorite song) is As by Stevie Wonder. My favorite part is when he growls out these lines:

We all know sometimes life's hates and troubles

Can make you wish you were born in another time and place

But you can bet your life times that and twice its double

That God knew exactly where he wanted you to be placed

so make sure when you say you're in it but not of it

You're not helping to make this earth a place sometimes called Hell

Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love

And maybe our children's grandchildren And their great-great grandchildren will tell...

Sometimes when I'm running I just HAVE to dance. When that happens, I'm pretty sure anyone who sees me suspects I'm having some kind of spasmatic attack. And if it happens at the end of that Stevie Wonder song, it will surely involve jazz hands. But I don't really care if I look silly, because I'm running and I'm happy and on top of the world.

The Girl and Me

I'm feeling a little out of sorts today, so I'm posting these pictures to cheer myself up. I love this girl.

Maria, Peter and Jeff Thatcher

Patrick is playing Jeff Thatcher in the Vermont Children's Theater production of Tom Sawyer. This afternoon is the final show. Here he is last night in his big scene, the opening act of the play. If you hang in there long enough, you'll see Tom Sawyer forget his lines and Patrick try to help him out and lots of awkwardness. The kid playing Tom had been sick the night before. And on opening night he also forgot his lines. You had to feel bad for the poor kid. If you know Pat and the way he remembers songs after hearing them just once, you know that HE didn't have any trouble with lines. He did a great job in his play and we're all really proud of him. He had a lot of fun, too.

The other highlight of our weekend is that our dear friends, Maria and Peter, are visiting from Pennsylvania. They arrived Friday night and I think they are staying indefinitely. Seriously, I can't seem to get out of them how long they're staying. But I hope it's a long time. (An aside: Everyone in my house has been sleeping in this weekend so that yesterday I got up, ran, came home and showered and everyone was still asleep! Now I'm writing this and everyone but Pat is still asleep! Nice to have these quiet mornings.) Neil and I met Peter and Maria when we were in grad school at the University of Wyoming in 1993. They were a year ahead of us in school, so we only had one year there together, but they lived with us that last summer they were in Laramie. Well, mostly they lived with Neil because I was in Cody doing an internship for two months that summer. Anyway, since we all moved back east, we see each other a couple of times a year, usually for New Year's Eve and a visit in the summer. It's always a treat getting to spend time with them and they are a couple of the funniest people we know. They are also both really smart and thoughtful and especially kind to the children. And Maria is a fabulous cook. And they like to do the kinds of things we like to do; hike, bike, go for walks, eat, make crude jokes and drink lots of seltzer. Here we are on our favorite hike up Wheeler mountain.




Neil wasn't with us because he was doing a fundraising century ride for the Norris Cotton Cancer Center with our friend Fritz. In case you didn't know, a century is a HUNDRED MILE bike ride. My husband is amazing, isn't he?




Peter was Nature Man on our hike and whenever we were uncertain of the way, Peter sniffed a rock and led us out of danger. To be Nature Man you have to stick ferns and other greenery in your hat. Towards the end of the hike, Nature Man realized he was getting old and needed to retire, so he handed over the reigns to Patrick, who is now Nature Man. Peter also made up a song we all really enjoyed to the tune of Neil Young's "Love is a Rose". One line goes like this: Boogers in your nose but you better not pick them...
















When we returned from our hike at about 2:00, my mom had made bread and two pies and organized Harper's bureau drawers and done some other cleaning. She also had the music cranked up pretty loud. Then Mom helped me make dinner. I don't think the woman sat down all day. She's amazing. Here are the strawberry/rhubarb pies she made. Yes, they were as yummy as they look and there is still almost a whole pie left. Hmmmm....I think it's time for breakfast!

Jazz, Poutine and Things Pat Said

We've just returned from Montreal Jazz Festival. It was a pretty perfect weekend. The weather was beautiful, the crowds were colorful and we got to hang out with our feet in the fountain like we did two years ago at Jazz Fest. Then, however, the fountain was blue, instead of red.

Even Dad took off his shoes to enjoy the fountain.

And here's one of the cool stilt characters we saw.

Another thing we did in Montreal this weekend was eat poutine. Poutine is a THE regional dish of Quebec. It is french fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds. There are seemingly limitless additional toppings you can order with your poutine. Here I am enjoying poutine saucisse, which is poutine with cut up hot dogs on it. Montreal is an interesting mix of high class, urban sophistication and over-the-top tackiness, so I ordered this to see just how tacky things could get. It was awesome.

Neil enjoying his Poutine Poulet.

On Saturday night, Neil and I got to go out for a late night dinner date. Before we left, Patrick decided he was going to get a slice of pizza for supper. I suggested that I could give him some money and he could walk down the street by himself and get the slice of pizza and come back and I would buzz him back into the building. We were discussing this on the deck and he said to his sister, very seriously, "Harper, do you think I can handle that?" They decided he could and he was proud as can be of his accomplishment. Here he is coming back down the street and then into the apartment. He did it again for lunch on Sunday, but the one pizza place was closed so he had to go to another which involved crossing a major street. We made a deal that he'd wait for the walk light even if other people were jay walking. Also, I apparently didn't give him quite enough money the second time, but he said the pizza guy was really nice and gave him the slice for the money he had. Next time we're going to rub dirt on his face and send him out with NO money!

While we were talking about our date, Patrick predicted that Neil and I would probably kiss for a long time, like in the movies, fall in love and get married. That's pretty much what happened, but we didn't take any pictures.

Sunday morning we went for a family walk in Parc Mont Royal and enjoyed the views from the top. On our way, we walked by some tennis courts where a woman was approaching the courts. Pat said, "Is that big woman going to play tennis?" Then, in the park, this guy with long, wild, gray hair dressed all in black came out of the woods and Pat said, "Look! It's jungle man!" The whole outing was basically Patrick busting out with all the things he noticed and cracking us up.

Here we are at the top of Mont Royal where we played the fun family game "If Mommy and Daddy Got Divorced, Who Would You Choose to Live With?" After some discussion, Harper chose Grammy Cindy and Poppa Wayne and Patrick agreed. Pretty wise kids we have. (My auntie Sally taught us that a little Lenny Bruce humor is good for child rearing).

And this is apparently a picture of Neil and me taken for the purpose of announcing our engagement. Really, who are these cheeseballs?!

And just in case you thought all the grafitti in Montreal is in French, I took this picture:

Grammy Robin is Extraordinary

When I was 4 years old, my parents split up. (Mom, stop reading now. Or stop feeling guilty now. I know it's only been 33 years, so it might be too soon to say, but really, I think I'm going to turn out alright, despite the divorce. I love you Momma!) Anyway, after my folks split, my dad and I lived in the same town as my gram. She was a phys. ed. teacher and I spent a lot of time at her house, after school and overnight, and sometimes went to school with her. But the most important and greatest part was that beginning when I was five years old I spent every summer with Gram at our family's Camp on Lake Ossipee in Freedom, New Hampshire.
Here's a picture of me with my gram on the dock at Camp a few years before I started spending my summers with her. It's true, I was a funny looking baby.



During the week it was usually just Gram, my Aunt Raetha (who is 9 years older than me and the youngest of her generation) and me. The whole extended family, including one or both of my parents, would come on the weekends. I think that I'm very lucky to have had all those summers with my gram. I could certainly write volumes about our long summer days, waking up each morning to find Gram in her housecoat with her coffee watching the Today Show, learning to swim and dive, picking wild blueberries, going to ceramics class, begging to ride on motor boats with Rae and her teenage friends, hanging the laundry, playing with my best summertime friend, Ann Kelly, skinny dipping on hot nights, eating camp spaghetti and Welsh Rabbit and, especially, the way the air smelled like pine and ferns in the heat of the day and the particular way a single boat would sound when it created waves at dusk. None of that tells you about the kind of woman my gram is and the influence she has had on me.

Gram (aka Robin or Priscilla, though her birth name was Joanne Priscilla Chick), has five children, Cindy (my mom), Sally, Tommy, Scott and Raetha. And she has 10 grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren. But really, anyone who has ever spent time with my gram knows that her family is much bigger than this, because she has an open and accepting heart, loyalty that knows no bounds and a home that always serves as a shelter for anyone who needs her warmth and kindness. With these superhero qualities, she has set a tone for the Stoddard family where guests quickly become family. And Camp, built by her dad when she was just a girl and where Gram retired to over 20 years ago, is something of a sacred place: a kind of temple for unconditional love, a safe harbor for fugitives, a place to lay it all down, go bra-less and not wash your hair. A place where you know the people love you no matter what and even if you act like a complete asshole (and boy, some of us sure have acted like assholes over the years and yelled and screamed at each other something fierce). And a place where everyone admires, reveres and deeply respects the beautiful matriarch of the Stoddard Tribe. My gram will be 86 years old next month. These days, I often notice and admire her easy going, laid back attitude and her appreciation for just being around and able to enjoy her family. She doesn't take anything for granted, she's active and very social and an incredible roll model for growing older. She's my hero.

More Pictures from Spearhead

Thanks to Sandy, I have some more pics from last Friday's Spearhead show. The ones of us are from before the show (and therefore before the dancing and sweating).






















My Dad and Harper waiting for things to happen.


















Henekis (and Alan to the left of the photo). Isn't she cute? That's Pat's head, in between.


















Carolyn and me in the beer tent talking to Chip. Chip is an investigator for our local public defender. He's a cool guy.

"...and you wore your summer dress."

Today I went to the used book store downstairs from my office.  For 2 dollars I bought a 2 disc Elton John retrospective.  Having the song Levon http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMub1_CdOrQ on disc is one of those little things in daily life that makes you really happy.

And here's another poem that I love.

Picnic by the Inland Sea
by D. Nurkse

We understood we were hurtling into space
at eighteen miles per second, clouds of atoms
charged and polarized, each alone
in the abyss, and you wore your summer dress.
The light under the poplar was mottled
but the shade of the pines was feathered.
We were bundles of self-cancelling voices—
flight and response, punishment and reward,
hostile adoration, panic and certainty—
from long before the Bronze Age,
yet we made our own promises
by suppressed coughs or sneezes
and sat a little apart
but sometimes our eyes brushed.
We sipped Montepulciano from a paper cup
until the bottom darkened
but still it was not evening,
still the world was ending,
already we resented the breeze
for choosing and marking us,
still a song too short to sing
moved two famished sparrows
like pawns from branch to branch.