The Land of Canaan

Today I went way up to the little town of Canaan, Vermont, to do outreach work at a senior meal site. My dear colleague from the Area Agency on Aging, Lynn, and I have been doing these outreach activities once every month or two for a year and a half now. They are always incredibly enjoyable and rewarding. We show a 25 minute dramatic film about an older woman who has experienced domestic violence throughout her life and follow this with a discussion. We always stay for lunch, or, as was the case today, have lunch with the seniors before our presentation. I love the lunch part because this is when we get to talk intimately with the seniors.

In Canaan about half the folks at the meal site were speaking french, which was a lot of fun. The people at today's lunch were from VT, NH and Quebec. I was fortunate enough to sit across from an 89 year old man and his wife, who was just a few years younger. This guy told me the greatest stories about his life! He'd been a combat medic in France and Italy during WWII. He'd spend a good deal of time in VA hospitals afterward for "what they now call PTSD." As a boy he'd lived with his family in Island Pond for a time, where his dad had good work with the railroad until the Great Depression. They survived after Dad's layoff in a variety of ways which seemed both admirable and quaint. My new friend worked on Jack Kennedy's campaign and was appointed by that president as postmaster in his small town in northern New England. At the end of the event, as we were saying our goodbyes, he shared some of his childhood history related to domestic violence and talked about the ways he'd been affected. When older people share these stories with me I feel particularly honored and that was certainly the case today. I had less opportunity to converse with his wife, who was truly stunning to look at and having her own lively conversations with her table neighbors. There was something about this couple. They were particularly kind and generous with their spirits and stories. They asked us to come back for lunch again. Canaan is a bit of a drive, but I think I will. I hope they'll be there and I hope they will tell me more.

Sometimes you want one thing but get another

Like when you want to explore downtown St. Paul but the rain and lightening force you to have lunch in a great little neighborhood spot. Check out El Mercado if you're ever in West St. Paul. The chicken soup is one of the best things ever.

The Way It Smells

I love the way it smells. I'm riding my bike and smelling the pine needles and diesel fumes. I ride past the log yard with all that fresh cut pine and you can imagine how good THAT smells. Then there is this August cold front that moves in, just for a day or two, and there is the scent of manure and grass and something else that rides that colder air. And that, of course, smells just like the Fair, which will be here soon. I'm glad my mom taught me, through a wordless passage, how the bread or the cookies smell when they are done. The best smell: the kids' heads. The coffee in the morning, the unarticulable river, the corn-chip-like scent of my good dog... That bread I'm baking, of course. Thank you, Nose.

Neil Rocks the Rock Pile (7th time!)

7.6 miles. Average 12% grade. A rider a few minutes before him was completely disoriented, trying to get back on his bike with no shoes. It was upsetting to see.
Neil is amazing. I'm really, really proud of him. He's the second of the two riders in the clip.

I like summer

I like the way it smells. And how tall all the grass and plants are. I like the vegetables, so ready to eat. I like driving home from a friend's house with the windows down and the music loud and my whole arm out the window. I like the way the heat makes my bones feel. I like letting the kids stay up late. I like sweating. I like margaritas with salt. I like cooking on the grill and fires in the firepit. I like the extra time we get to spend with friends. I miss Camp and not working and being barefoot all the time. And I hate having to wear regular clothes (and a bra) when it is hot. But I like missing winter. And I really like summer.

Heifer Weekend is Holy

Karen and Jen laughing; one of my favorite things. The three of us have been best friends since 7th grade. Every year in June we all gather at Jen's house with our families for Heifer weekend. Now our partners are best friends and our children think they are cousins. We always have a great time. We're family.

Jen is a gardner extraordinaire. I couldn't help snapping shots of some of her flowers.

Harper helps Shea with some fresh pecans.

Bocce Ball.

"Give 'em hell Bernie!"

So this year, the Sandersons didn't arrive until Saturday afternoon and the kids and I were the only ones who really wanted to go to the parade. We had a blast!

Marathoning

Well, I finished my 5th marathon last Sunday in Maine. The Sugarolaf Marathon is a point-to-point race on a beautiful course. There was a tailwind and a lot of downhill, but I did not PR. I finished it in 4 hours, 18 minutes and 35 seconds, my 2nd best time. My knee, injured a few months ago when I was running and tripped over my dog, Rosie, started hurting in the second mile. I was afraid that would happen. It made the race less than pleasant. For the first half, I wasn't sure I could finish. Once I decided I would, it was hard not to focus on the pain and just enjoy the race. But oh well, I did finish.

Two years ago I ran my best time at the Vermont City Marathon. I've tried to recapture the thrill of that race twice now, to no avail. After that marathon, we drove home from Burlington, stopping at Marty's First Stop in Danville for something to eat. I got a bowl of clam chowder and there was never a more perfect post-marathon recovery snack. Salt, carbs, protein and fat in a styrofoam cup. Yum. (Everyone stops at Marty's when traveling route 2 through the Kingdom and locals know that Marty's has great soup, sandwiches, and anything else you could possibly want.) Then we got home and the party got rolling. I drank wine and danced and smiled and ate some more of whatever my mom cooked for me (crabcakes, I think). In contrast, after this race, I couldn't walk and was sick to my stomach. There was certainly no dancing. After a while I was able to eat some of the chowder my momma made at my request (better than Marty's) and have some wine in a somewhat forced act of celebration. But I didn't feel well for several days. A fellow marathoner pointed out that running injured takes a bigger toll on the body, which might explain my extended GI troubles and general malaise. In any case, it was disappointing race.

Funny, because despite all this, when my step-father asked me, right after the race, if I thought I would run another marathon, my first instinct wasn't "no way!" Which makes me think that the chances are good that I will run another 26.2. I think I'll still want to chase the joy of a successful, feel-good race, the hope of a PR and maybe even the unrealistic dream of a BQ. But tonight I enjoyed a laid-back mountain bike ride with Patrick. And Harper has promised to take me on her favorite trail and give me some lessons at the pump track. But someday, and probably soon, I'll need to run.