dragon tales and the water is wide
pirates sail and lost boys fly
fish bite moonbeams every night
and i love you

-dixie chicks, "godspeed (sweet dreams)"-

Younger Girlchild is 5 today. While it is impossible that Older Girlchild is 8, Boy is 7, Cousin is 6...it is inconceivable for some reason that she is 5. Maybe it's because, as I spoke with her mom on the phone today, we both agreed that it seemed like just yesterday she was born. And while there are hundreds upon hundreds of memories that I can reach out and grab, of all four of them, memories that make me smile when I am down and get me through my roughest days at work just by looking at their pictures, what strikes me most about Younger Girlchild is this: she is the first (and only, to date) person I've known since the day she was born. Since before then, even. And given my situation when she was a baby, and her parents' generosity in sharing their lives and kiddos with me, I got to spend a lot of one on one time with Younger Girlchild. And there are two memories that seem to shine for me, just of her and I. There are many children I have lost my heart to since her, including her siblings and her cousin. But in an odd way, she was the first.

When she was around 7-8 months, her mom asked (read: told, expected--exactly what I needed) me to be at their house every other morning at 8am. She would take the older kiddos to school, come home, pick up their other car, and leave me and Younger Girlchild with the van, to get the older ones at the end of their schoolday (which was not long back then if I remember right). And after tummy time and snacks and songs and kisses and games, Younger Girlchild would go down for her morning nap. She went down pretty well for a little one, but the way she fell asleep the best for me was snuggled up with her head on my chest, arms down by her sides, with me singing every song I could ever think of and then reciting Shakespeare and poems and then starting over at the beginning. I usually held her longer than it took for her to fall asleep, unless it was a long morning and my arms were falling off. But I will never forget how that felt, to have her settle in and sigh off to sleep. To have her trust me. I use to pace into their bathroom to check her in the mirror, to see if she was out or not. When she was I would study her face, seeing her mama and daddy and sister and brother stamped there, all of the beginnings and promises and innate wisdom that is housed in tiny bodies with huge souls.

I can remember vividly the first time each of them told me that they loved me. Older Girlchild was one morning sitting in front of their tv after I'd slept on the couch, Boy was curled up under my arm on their couch one rainy freezing afternoon after school, Cousin was one night at her house while I was putting her to bed. Younger Girlchild was one evening after a long afternoon with all four of them. A long week had preceded this particular Friday, and at that moment Older Girlchild was brushing her teeth and yelling because Younger Girlchild was in the bathroom, the Boy was picking out a book and yelling because he wanted to brush his teeth, Younger Girlchild was yelling because at that moment she was neither brushing her teeth nor picking out a book. It was, in a word, ridiculous. Hilarious. And at that moment, exhausting. A rare moment with them where for just half a second I was not sure that I wanted to be their "aunt" A that night. I realized this quaver of faith just as Younger Girlchild stumbled out of the bathroom, footie pajamas, eyes full of tears born of frustration and utter tiredness. She grabbed onto my knee and I was back in my favorite role in the entire world, there in their hallway, nowhere else I'd rather be. I picked her up and she looked into my face, hair strewn about and stuck to the drip under her nose, and sighs. I put my arms around her and she buries her head in my neck, snuffling into my shoulder. Then--"I love you, A. I love you." I grin over her head. "I love you too, Younger Girlchild". She shoves her head up. "I love you eleven hundred!!" I laugh and tell her back "I love you eleven hundred too." As quick as it comes, the moment is gone, and there we are, tired and happy and full of hugs and laughter and shouts. But after the stories were read and the songs sung and the hugs and kisses given and the reassurances that Mommy and Daddy would be home before they woke up were said, I walked into the hallway to see that little moment out of time, shining. Where she reminded me, as they have all done, that there is nothing not worth doing and no one not worth meeting. Where she once again reminded me of the promise of her life, and mine, and all of theirs.

So today she is 5 and I marvel at the person she has become. I am amazed by her vocabulary, her wisdom, her unending hugs, and her resilience. I cannot help but be proud of her. And I cannot help but be grateful. More than anyone, perhaps, she is what I got out of bed for during those long ago difficult days. Today she is tall and lanky, full of smiles and ideas and tears and stubbornness and the unbelievable imperfect perfection that all of these kids possess.

Happy Birthday, Younger Girlchild. I hope you get as much out of your time with me as I do. I know you will grow up to be a wise and amazing woman. You have a wonderful family, immediate and extended, and I have every confidence that they will guide you through your hard times and rejoice in your happy times in the best of ways. But for now, please keep on being the beautiful little girl that you are.

One final note that I meant to write sooner: a few weekends ago, I got to spend with them. We went to the pancake store, carved (and decorated) pumpkins with the Cousin, watched movies, drove up and down the "big hills" as requested, sang songs. It was a wonderful weekend. And as we were driving, Older Girlchild asked that we sing the "bedtime song". It took me a minute to realize what she was talking about: it was a song that my grandfather, my dad's dad, made up for his boys when they were no older than Younger Girlchild is now, on a hot summer night so long ago in a cabin in upstate New York. He sang it to them--and then he sang it to us, his grandchildren--and along with many others, it is a song I will sing to my kids, and my nieces and nephews, whenever they come along. I had taught it to Older Girlchild and the Boy a few years back, and they love it. That day I started to sing it and as they joined in, loudly and gleefully, I quieted down and listened to them chorus a song older than them, older than me, part of my own history and makeup. Listening to them that day, I was chilled suddenly. My grandfather died several years back and I miss him daily. Hearing them sing it, this stupid little song--well, it was a recycling of sorts. A simple moment. But a joyful one.

I hope their mom and dad don't mind me writing about them--if you do, of course please tell me and I'll stop!!

But again, for now--Happy Birthday, lovely Girlchild. You are and will continue to be one of my all time favorite kiddos.

hey girl where are you going
looking wild and puzzled and free
when you smiled and lassoed the sunset
did you give one last thought to me?
--jessica parsons-taylor--

election night, and while there are few things i like to discuss openly in a public forum less than politics, suffice it to say that i am worried. mostly because of the gubernatorial race, and the clear jeopardy that my job will be in if it goes one way versus the other--not to mention the hurt suffered by our clients if that same candidate wins. but as i said, i am not a huge fan of debating on open websites. so that is all i will say on that.

i was snuggling Bigfang on the couch tonight when the Bro came home from an hour or two out with friends. "aww, bigfang" he said, "it's a rough life, huh?" Bigfang just grunted and settled her head more solidly in my hand. and as i often do, i began to reflect on the year and a half we have lived together, the Bro and SIL and i. you see, Bigdog is wholly the Bro's. her heart lives in his pocket. she will guard the SIL and i when he is away, because to her we are part of his pack, and so we are her responsibility when he is not here. she knows his car. sleeps on his side of the bed. and Stinky is all the SIL's. that dog would follow my SIL to the ends of the earth. no matter who walks her, feeds her, or scratches her ears, Stinky goes to SIL first and last and in between. when my SIL is sick, Stinky becomes a hot-border-collie-compress and snuggles up with her; when Stinky is scared she becomes velcrodog, sticking to the SIL like glue. equally, Catwings is all mine. he comes when i call, whines a welcome when i come home after work, watches out the window every night while i fall asleep. he will ride on my lap in the truck, curl up on my stomach, step on the computer to get my attention.

and yet. while they each clearly have their favorite, the SIL tells me that during the day when she and the Bro are sleeping (they operate on a night schedule--they're not lazy), she will hear the quiet pad of Catwings' paws up the stairs. he will come in and pat along the edge of the bed until he feels Stinky underneath the covers, then he will go around to the other side, hop up, and proceed to snuggle up with SIL--checking in, she says, it's like he's making sure we're all good up there. on days when i am sad or tired or heaven forbid tearful, Bigfang is all about sitting with me. she'll plant her solid self right by my side and wait while i put an arm around her neck, hug her fur, tell her secrets that i don't want anyone to hear. and Stinky will let the Bro--and from what i've seen, only the Bro--pick her up, toss her up on his shoulders, and walk around with her literally hanging around his neck. these are meager examples. the SIL broke Bigfang and made her into a snuggle monster. Stinky and i ran together for so long after work that now she waits to hear me come in and then meets me with whines and jumps and wiggles at the door, just to make sure i know she wants to come. and the Bro has developed a love love relationship with Catwings, who really doesn't like dudes-- but the Bro can pet him or tussle with him, and Catwings loves him.

so what's the point of this silly little post? well. more than anything it was a reflection of how far our little family has come. but maybe tonight it's bigger than that, as so many things often are. we're sitting in a time that is unstable and scary. perhaps the worst is the feeling that we are simply doing just that, sitting in it. and while i cannot help but believe that the people i work with and work for are doing more good than harm, sometimes it is a struggle to see that. sometimes optimism is a job that i cannot complete. and some days, i want to simply give up, because change in every world i'm part of seems a very long time coming.

but then i think back to the first month we all lived together--longer than that, the first six months we lived together, in that first house which is 6 blocks and a lifetime from where we are now. you see, Bigfang wasn't a cat dog. and Stinky wouldn't stop barking. and Catwings would meow all day long confined to his room.

then we moved. Stinky stopped her barking. and one night i found Bigfang and Catwings curled on opposite ends of the same couch, each sleeping with one eye open but a newfound toleration. change was a long time coming. and i wasn't expecting to see the changes i did. but we got there. they got there. as always i find a lesson in our animals, our companions and friends, most definitely wiser than humans. and while i am sure that there are people who would say, "oh my lord, it's dogs. and a cat. get over it!", i am astounded by the powerful examples that they set for me. perhaps i am looking too hard for it. but there has been change. and that leaves me, more than anything else, hopeful.

what would you do if i sang out of tune
would you stand up and walk out on me?
lend me your ears and i'll sing you a song
and i'll try not to sing out of key--
oh i get by with a little help from my friends...

*those guys who you all know*

it has been so long since i have written anything but poetry, which is kind of amazing. the last time i was so focused was almost a year ago. maybe it's the season. who knows! tonight was the first dodgeball game of the fall season. driving over the fremont bridge i realized that this is the first year marker here in portland--i started playing last year this time. it's been quite a year. new job, new goals, new houses (x2 at this point). and i remember a conversation my SIL and i had right around this time last year. i had come home on a rainy night, a little sick and a little sad. feeling friendless. which was not true of course, but i hadn't found my group here. she was studying and i went in and sat down on the end of their bed. snuggled the little black dog. as usual she got to the heart of the matter. "you've got the job." because i was working. "uh huh." "and you've got the running and writing." still do. "yup." "so now all you need are the friends. it's the last part of the trifecta." "i'm not sure how to find that." "it's never easy, reinventing a life for yourself, is it?" "no, it's not." "you're doing a good job. especially because no one ever warns you about how hard it's going to be." "i am?" "yup. and before you know it, you'll find them." "you think?" "ames, i know."

she was right. a few weeks later i started dodgeball. and then a few months after that, when i joined my second indy team, i found my group. we're an oddball crew. 22 is a hardcore basketball star, fierce and sweet and one of the most welcoming women i've met. bionicman is a smart man, a sweet man, with a good outlook on the world and an impressive set of ethics and morals. the vannabama boys--one quiet, one loud--are funny and goofy; we love the same movies and make the same dorky jokes. stoner is quiet and kind, a man everyone would want on their team, solid. together we are fiercely competitive, winners, the team that jumps and yells and cheers each other on and trades off and calls each other on our sh*t. off the dodgeball court we are loud and funny and can swear like sailors. and yet i find each of them to be, in their own ways, incredibly good people. no one tells you that out in the world, making friends isn't as easy as it was in kindergarten. i feel that i hit the jackpot with this crew and i know they feel the same way. they laugh at my snorts, understand when my job is rough, are there with a hug or a high five, have made me in ways both large and invisible a better version of myself. it's sometimes hard to step out and see where i could be a better person, with more common sense and stronger values. they are somewhat of a rudder and somewhat of a cannon, blowing off steam every wednesday night.

tonight, after 6 weeks off, we welcomed each other back with hugs and cheers and beers. we brought three new women into our team, awesome chicks each, who rocked the court along with us. we pissed people off, threw hard, and for one night in our week lived bigger than we ever let ourselves outside of those walls. well, except for 22. she's roughhouse. afterwards we sat around and had beers, ribbed each other, talked about breakups and school and funny work stories and cruddy work stories. in the blink of 2 hours we slipped back into a team. it's funny. i remember, as most people do, dodgeball games from elementary school. i couldn't wait to leave the court. even now-- my coworkers and friends and family, they think it's great but also look at me like i'm nuts. but that place, that place where so many that i know might not want to be, is where i have found another home.

it's a little thing, i know. for hell's sake, it's rec league big kid dodgeball in a tiny community center in portland. but to have something fun to look forward to, every week, guaranteed laughs and some hard work--to feel that rush and rise in confidence--to know that even when i don't play my best they will slap my hand and not mind--to know that when i do they will be jumping all over me--to remember on my hardest days that i am part of a team that routinely kicks ass--that's something big for me. special.

long month. goooood month! but long. this week has kind of officially sucked, although much of that is because i just didn't get my big girl pants on before the weekend ended and i was blindsided at work by things i might not usually let bother me. so it goes. some new poetry below--

1) the truth of the matter is,
you know,
that people do terrible things
to children.
not just children
but to their children

and you see, that is where my comprehension
ends,
in that word, the spaces and lines and dots creating that word:
"their"
the new blood that was once
in their veins
the small bones made from
their bodies

but that is what i know to be true
today
and in the absence of understanding:
this time
there is only grief
and salt tears tumbling down to slick
the dog's fur--
the only neck i clung to being hers:
and in wide brown eyes
thumping tail
head pressed to my jaw
she reminds me
that there is no shame
in feeling each tiny wound

she reminds me,
in little snuggles
and her stomach for my pillow,
that each pinch and ache of
sadness
signals the continuance
of my own humanity

nights like this
i wish i wanted to be:
a dancer
a banker
a chef--
anything else at all
if i could regain
the bits of heart
lost

nights like this
each patch of myself
scraped away in a
soured attempt of kindness
sears as fire

and i can hold only faith
that my broken heart offerings
will repair their own
knowing even as i extend the pieces
that they will fall short
by far:
in smallest bodies
beat ever expanding hearts
solar flares
which i dare not attempt to match

so instead
layer by layer
i will peel the bruised
(and broken)
skin
from fragile
(and fragmented)
bones
and wear their misfortune as my own

hoping
as i do
on nights like this, you know,
that their truth
will one day be a lie
that their history
will not repeat onto itself
in far flung days

but that change will rustle
as wind through oak leaves
and we will do better tomorrow

and

2) In the calm woods, frozen in and out
Of time
There is a sweet pleasure
To find
In the deep drifts of snow and days
That, in fact, the world carries order
Beyond our control

And in the deepest hibernations:
Endless caverns
And starlit paths
We cannot touch what lies beneath,
Where the fawns wait to be born,
In the recesses of a spring yet unknown
Far off in guaranteed days

And in the night
Oh, for trees
Ageless and free
Whistling in the wind a song wise and sad
I go to the woods because they are not mine
I stay because there I am known
Without cause or agenda

We can but hope
Somewhere in worlds far distant from our own
That the woods will wait
Hold their counsel
And keep their peace

For in them is joy
With music in crooked streams
The places where we will lie
In dusty graves
Seeking beyond our bodies
That place which is forever home

she says "thank you".
"you don't hear it, i expect,
but you all do amazing work
and we are so grateful",
she says.
i become a statue staring
at this woman:
a grandmother too young,
dirty shirt
messy hair
crooked smile that barely lights on her lips

and i don't know how to tell her
that tonight i will go home
and cry
because no one has thanked me before.
yelled at me
slurred epithets: "bitch"
cried at me
spat bitter words of frustration
tried to tear down my soul;
that i have come
to expect. i cannot blame them.
our clients are bleeding.
walking through our doors
their hope sloughs off
and they stand before us with anger
as their only shield.
and their only weapon.

but thank you is a gift
that grows in my cupped palms,
a small eternal flame.
and to her i owe everything,
today.

you know they say you can't go home again
but i just had to come back one last time
ma'am i know that you don't know me from adam
but those handprints on the front step, they're mine

i thought if i could touch this place or feel it
this emptiness inside me might start healing
out here it's like i'm someone else
thought that maybe i could find myself
if i could just come in i swear i'll leave
won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me

--miranda lambert--


a long week, but we're finally in the new house! a little more cleaning and we'll be done done DONE with the old house. i'm exhausted. moving is hard. it hurts and it's frustrating and the weather is never right. but we had friends who are rockstars, and a mother/in law who is a complete champ, and between us all we got it done.

sitting here tonight in the quiet old house they've bought, i can't help but feel something new beginning. my bed is up high again and the Cat and I are watching the moon, which is shining in my window at the perfect angle. i'm puzzling out the change. this is the first time in years that i've settled so fast after a change, usually i'm a nice little hot mess for weeks after. this is new.

there is some overturn at work and the momentum keeps stepping up. more and more work, and still i'm feeling on top of it. fast-paced is my pace and i'm thoroughly enjoying staying on top of it. thoroughly enjoying finding absent parents and getting kids enrolled in tribes, working with new people and different organizations.

my writing has gained my focus again. being published is a wholly validating experience. seeing my words, the letters i put in order on a page six years ago and finally got the courage to submit, seeing them in print where anyone can read them is both terrifying and amazingly exhilarating. my mom read it and cried. my SIL read it and cried. then she asked me to read it at the wedding. and that right there makes every word i've ever written, the hours i spent on this one poem, worth it. even if no one ever publishes my work again, that makes it worth it. but i think if i work at it and make the time for it, this could go somewhere. i've found a writing mentor and she's amazing. before this i wrote raw and scraped, no refinement or thought, and she is reigning me in, calming me down, forcing me to slow my pace. at the heart of it i love the words. love that i have no control over them. writing is just...what i do. no rhyme or reason, no explanation. it's that simple.

so once again i find myself on a branching path. i am not often wise or usually intuitive, but i have learned that forks in the road can come up when you least expect them. and those are the best ones to follow.

there once was a union maid
who never was afraid
of goons and ginks and company finks
and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid
she went to the union hall
when a meeting it was called
and when the Legion boys came 'round
she always stood her ground:
oh you can't scare me, i'm stickin to the union
i'm stickin to the union, i'm stickin to the union
no you can't scare me, i'm stickin to the union
i'm stickin to the union till the day i die

~woody guthrie~, "union maid"

suffice it to say there are things going on that i can't talk about. so in lieu of that, here is a story:

there once was a young man who escaped tsarist russia after being jailed for distributing anti-tsar leaflets. at 15 he jumped a ship bound for america and settled in to a new life in new york city. he was alone. in the bronx borough he found a home among other jews and working class men. after a time--several years, i would think--he met the love of his life, and married her. they had a daughter. along about the same time, there were labor strikes and disputes erupting around the country. there were riots. the conditions of the working people were exposed, and the young man joined the industrial workers of the world organization. their motto was one he could believe in: an injury to one is an injury to all. and in the earliest days of long-lasting labor unions in america, this young man (who was not quite as young anymore) rose in the ranks to become a vocal participant in union movements. he and his wife raised their daughter to believe she could be anything. they told her that she was as good as any boy and that she could achieve just as much.

as his daughter grew, she met a young man from the bronx as well, a young man who was in the IWW and spent his time working for his father and organizing within his local. over time they fell in love. he liked to write her love letters in green ink. she called him penny. and after they married they joined a group of young radicals in establishing a socialist society outside of the city. of course they didn't live there, but they spent their summers there. this group of young friends built a dock on the lake, built a meeting house and a common barn, camped on their sections of the land they had bought together, and eventually even built true houses on them. as people do when they are in love, the young woman (who was not quite as young anymore) and her husband had children: three boys. they spent their years in new york but their summers in three arrows, as the community was named, after a symbol from the young woman's father's days in russia, meaning down with communism, capitalism, and fascism. they believed in equality, in sharing their lives and lands and money with their friends and neighbors, they believed that everyone had a duty to help better the world. the boys grew up riding the subways and running in the woods. they played baseball, they went to school, they read and fought and were as boys are. but they also heard the stories of their grandfather's involvement in the union, of their father's involvement. they had songbooks full of union anthems. all of their lullabies were such. and in their hearts at first, and then their heads, they came to believe, as their parents and grandparents, in equality first. in strength in numbers. in unions.

by 1963, the focus of rights in america had shifted, from rights for the working class in the early 1900s, to rights for women in the 1920s, and onto civil rights for african-americans. on august 28th, 1963, dr. king's voice rang out on the lincoln memorial and the washington monument, the mall between them blanketed with people singing, crying, believing. the two younger boys (who were not as young anymore) were there. in their genes they had inherited big eyebrows and a passion for baseball, and a deep seated belief that everyone deserved rights as a human being among men. the youngest, especially, worked for the civil rights movement. he marched. he sang. he wrote. he stood up for others, as his father and grandfather and mother and grandmother before him.

as the man grew he met a woman with fiery hair and a loud laugh. they had two dogs, and a house on the prairie in kansas (far from home for both), and then a son. they moved west in the pioneer tradition, and then they had a daughter. these two spent summers in three arrows with their cousins. they all heard the stories of their great-grandfather and great-grandmother, their grandfather and grandmother, their dads and moms, in their work to stand up. they heard the lullabies and sang the songs and grew up believing in the worth of every person around them. they joined the unions they could join. and at family reunions, funerals and birthdays and anniversary celebrations, they sang songs of freedom and never forgot to remember who had brought them to where they stood.

after their grandfather died, their fathers crawled into the old attic and found his original union membership card, signed in green ink.

and the daughter, this proud descendant of brave men and brave women, well, someday she'll sing the songs to her own children. and then to their children. but for now, for tonight, she settles in with memories that were bequeathed to her, of long ago days when a young boy jumped a ship-- and in that one act, started a legacy.

take me out to the ballgame
take me out to the crowd
buy me some peanuts and crackerjack
i don't care if i never get back
let me root root root for the home team
if they don't win it's a shame
for it's one two three strikes you're out
at the old ball game!

--jack norworth--

i am lucky, i know, to have two wonderful parents. two amazing parents. they listen and share their opinions, they trust who i am and what i want to do, they have shown me unconditional love and a great acceptance throughout my lifetime.

as a child my dad and i were exceptionally close. from woody guthrie lullabies to good books, from him teaching me to pitch a perfect curveball and then teaching me to drive, he has been a steady presence in my life. there is one night that stands out, when i was exceptionally sad for no apparent reason. i was about 8, it was hot and i was overtired and up too late. and instead of talking to one of them i just sat on the stairs and cried. well he found me, made me some iced peppermint tea, and didn't ask why i was sad. just kind of let me be in it, and didn't leave me alone. that stuck. i didn't realize it at the time but i knew from then on, consciously knew, that he would have my back whenever i needed him.

as i got older we would go to the coast for the day, just him and me and our cameras, taking pictures and swilling coffee and staring at the gray or blue or vibrantly orange sky. we love old bridges, old buildings, negative space that exists in and around ruins and streams, love getting lost in the woods and the ocean.

and when i went off to school he believed in me. when i came back with my tail tucked low he believed in me. when i went on tour he believed in me. and when i went back to school he believed in me.

today was his christmas present, a trip to seattle to see the yankees play the mariners. we love the yankees, all four of us. my grandpa (his dad) grew up watching babe ruth, he grew up watching mickey mantle. we have a seat from the original stadium that we pulled out for every baseball season. i fell in love with this team during the '98 world series, with the classic yankee team of my day: pettite,jeter, brosius (an oregon native!), strawberry, knoblauch, el duque, cone, girardi, o'neill, williams, nelson. it was an amazing series. i was 13, dad and i had fallen into that rift that happens between fathers and daughters as they grow out of the tomboy phase. but baseball, baseball and the yankees, was our constant. when people these days give me grief about loving the team now, in a less than stellar era, i just tell them it's hereditary.

today we took the train up, the starlight express--another favorite of ours---and walked to safeco field, getting a hot dog along the way. we sat way up on the 1st base line, watched sebathia pitch a fantastic game, watched our bronx bombers hit pitch after pitch, smart baserunning. we laughed and screamed and talked about everything from his upcoming trip to Venezuela to my plans for graduate school. we agreed to do this every year.

i don't know if he reads this, but thanks. thanks for the songs of my past and the pitches you taught me to throw. thanks for never doubting me. thanks for today. i love you.

one of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

--Robert Frost--

there is a lot going on right now. this month of july is jam-packed, not least of which is my fulltime job--now encompassing approximately 2 1/2 fulltime positions which we can't fill right now--and moving. it could be--and often is--overwhelming. throw in a half marathon, a trip to seattle to see the yankees and mariners with The Papa, another weekend trip to seattle for bridesmaid dress shopping with my other 1/3s (both of them, YAY!!), dodgeball, softball, and the miscellaneous mundane tasks making up my days, and i can see it flying by before it's even begun. i'm pleasing as many people as possible, and i know that at least one other person will be furious with me, but it can't be helped. i have to protect myself as well.

and yet none of that is now bothering me. my SIL gave me the best gift tonight, a free pass to take the time with my other 1/3s, an ear, a comrade to laugh with and bemoan the state of our house. and in doing so i found a way to ease her mind a little, cleaning the rooms that were unbearable for her. work today was wonderful. so productive, so fun, so full of sweet wonderful people who i truly love working with. dodgeball was awesome, despite the jammed finger and horrific bruise on my leg. and i mended a fence with one of my other 1/3s, a necessary phone call and extension of my hand.

so now my mind, so often full of everything else, drains tonight and i can only see my writing. i wonder what has happened to it, what i can do to get it back. my novel is almost 1/2 way done and yet all i can do is reread what i have, over and over. the short stories, poems, essays--all ceased. the words that flowed from my fingers have dried up and i'm left searching for my own self. it is only clear to me now that i will, at some point, need to seek the woods above and find what i thought was true bolstered up, strengthened, resting on pylons secured in the sand watching the waves move in and out endlessly, dependable.

in the meantime i will anchor my days with the SIL and Bro, the Mother of sainthood, the Papa, the friends, the work, the next challenge, and the next adventure. i can only believe in the power of words and i can only believe that they will come back. they always do. and i always come back a little more sure of that which i thought was true.

this is where i lay my hat
this is where they know my name
this is where they show me that a man's not so alone
maybe i'm already home
sometimes you got to go back
maybe i'm already home
sometimes you don't know why

-marc cohn-

it has been quite a month. a week ago yesterday we got notice that our house is no longer going to be our house. our second such notice in 8 months. we staggered. we bounced. and we rallied. now, a week and a day later, they have an offer in on a house and we are packing. in the midst of it all, we have all worked full weeks and taken care of animals and somewhere in there, slept a little.

tonight we found ourselves sitting in our living room with glasses of good wine, plates of delicious healthy food, and three happy animals strewn about the place in various states of sleep. last night was my night to cook, this was the SIL's creation and it was fantastic! the SIL raises her glass--a toast to me, my optimism this week and my faith in their ability to find us a home--and then we raise a toast to the Bro, who pulled himself together spectacularly and in the space of 8 days has become a homeowner (well, halfway there)--and then he and I raise a toast to her, for her forward thinking, never-give-a-inch, keep moving ahead way of handling the obstacles thrown at us. she reminds us that while she may keep us moving forward, it is only because the Bro and I bolster her up on either side. we are a triangle of sorts. a family. i think we all take turns moving forward in situations like this, and we are all good at keeping each other upright. and i am proud of us, not me but us. i am especially proud of them. they had every right to panic. there's internship, overtime, two dogs, a wedding in a few months, and then just day to day life. and yet they didn't. they formulated a plan A, and then a plan B, C, D, E, and probably F, and we all went from there.

the night they got home from their camping trip, after i called them to let them know The News, the SIL came downstairs and, in the course of many conversation topics, told me about their plans for a house. we're going to buy. i had kind of thought that might happen, and so with the help of the Other 1/3 in Seattle, had started looking for places for me and ChuckNorrisCat. it's ok, i thought, it's probably time for them to live by themselves. they ARE geting married, after all. i really was okay with it. not thrilled, but ok. so, we're buying. ok. we found this great place, it's got a full bedroom upstairs with an office space, big living room and kitchen, nice little guest room. it sounds perfect for them and i smile at her. and the basement is perfect for you and ChuckNorrisCat. plenty of space, lots of light. we think you'll be happy there. i look at her and she smiles. three musketeers, Ames. we're in this together. ok? i nod. yeah...sounds great.

so i guess, in between houses, with boxes and packing tape coming out our ears, i am already home.

thanks, guys. love you too.

she's lying on a bed, in some crowded room
she's trying to sleep,
there's not much else to do
the faces change around her
they speak to her sometimes
she's getting used to being left behind

when we find her,
we'll belong to her
we won't see her first smile, we won't hear her first word
but ours will be the first heart she holds in her hands
she can keep them beside her in her very own room

-lucy kaplansky, "this is home"-

every day there are kids legally freed for adoption. hundreds, literally hundreds of them, freed every day, across our country.

you know, i fear that i feel this too deeply. too much. and so i try not to, actively work at it, especially at work, where taking each hurt on my own skin would do no good. which means that each night at home, i feel them a little more. but these kids, man, these kids. they scoop out my heart and guts, and i would lay down a path of stone for them to walk across if i could. i would give them back their parents, the ones they love so dearly, only better and stable. i would give each of them a home that is safe and full of light, the kind that i got, where the lamps shone on the rainy days and the sun came through the skylight on gentle mornings, where people cared about where i was and what i was doing and who i was.

i am tired tonight. tired and a little roller-coastery, riding the days and changes and ideas that come with each new morning. i am tired enough to know that i should call it a night and turn off my light, snuggle my cat and listen for the rain to wash it all away so i can start over tomorrow.

but for as tired as i am, i know that our kids are exhausted. you can see it on their faces, the older ones who are already so far removed from innocence, the younger ones who are just putting one foot in front of the other, the littlest ones who don't know why they struggle. there was a boy in my office today, a big guy, older than most, who sat in his worker's corner and cried. 'probably no placement', my coworker whispered in my ear, and i wanted to go hug him. i wanted to tell him it would be ok. but i can't guarantee that. and the last thing these people need are more promises that don't come to pass.

budget cuts are upon us. 80% of our budget goes to services for our families and kids. how much more can we take from them? when will they get the best of what we can offer, as a state and a country, instead of the worst? and how much longer can we work on a shoestring, pulling through day to day? we will go as far as possible. and then a little farther, and we will do it willingly, with a smile, because if we don't then really who will?

in spite of all this i am choosing to go to sleep with hope tonight. i believe that our budget will turn around. i believe that more and more good people decide to open their homes, or their hearts, or their schedules, for our kids. i do indeed believe that we can continue to do more good than harm.

but all of those are on a grand scale. mostly i hope that the kid i saw today has a bed under him and a roof over him and a quiet corner where he can sit tonight.

so where do we go from here? we go from ignoring these problems, societally speaking, to putting them front and center. how? clothing drives. partnership programs for kids in care with people in the community, especially for high schoolers. play groups for younger kids in care. increased weekend and weeknight respite for foster care providers. alternative schooling options. summer camp vouchers. traveling options to visit colleges. vacation opportunities. health education geared toward kids in care; not health care, that is top notch, but health education--especially nutritional. pet therapy programs. a movement needs to start, a small current of demand and curiosity from the community surrounding our kids without ever seeing them, there has to be an opening of eyes. am i asking for too much? no. am i missing the powerful programs already in place? no. but it is not enough. it will never be enough, not until every kid has a place, a home, and a heart to hold on to.

santa fe
are you there
do you swear you won't forget me
if i found you
would you let me come and stay?
i ain't getting any younger
and before my dying day
i want space
not just air
let em laugh in my face
i don't care
save a place
i'll be there
in santa fe

-jack kelly, newsies-

she wonders if that little twinge she feels when she enters a theater will ever fade. it is her own choice and it was a part of herself she didn't always like. she didn't like how sarcastic she was, how inept she felt, how lost she became. and yet...there is a shadow backstage, a pocket of humanity where a little piece of her old self is kept.

there were days when she would walk on air, giddy with the knowledge of creation at their fingertips, thrilled with her place in that world when none existed in the world outside those walls. she loved knowing that things were in their place backstage, loved knowing that there was an ebb and flow in each night, a tugging of time towards the same motion, and loved knowing that no two shows would ever be entirely the same. she loved existing in the boundaries without limitations. she loved being trusted. looking back she realizes it was a trust based on absolute blind faith, there was no reason for them to trust her, to hand her the props list and set check list and say 'go to', no reason for them to set her free. yet they did.

there was a freedom in this world out of space and time, freedom in knowing that she wasn't judged for being fat or clumsy, not judged for being inexperienced, that she didn't lose chances to improve or succeed. there was a freedom in being with people who were older and wiser, people who had been where she was and opened their home away from home to her.

and now, today, 7 years later, there is a freedom in walking into any theater anywhere in the world and feeling her heart settle just a little, feel her shoulders straighten and her fingers itch for the flashlight and the wrench and the cool cement blocks of the backstage walls. there is a freedom in the ability to find a home anywhere she goes. they gave that to her.

there is a freedom in knowing there are people back in her hometown, those innumerable wonderful people, who remember who she was then, and who would welcome her back if she wanted.

there is a freedom in knowing that what she is doing now isn't the only thing she can do. and that it is not the only work which she loves immensely. that, then, is her secret joy. she does not dare to hope anymore that she will land upon her feet. she knows she will. they gave that to her also.

does she miss it? some days so much her belly aches and twists. some days she cannot believe she gave that life up, some days she can smell the face powder and fresh wood sets and musty seats, some days she can hear the music and the laughter of the chorus. some days she can see the faces set solemnly in wonder backstage before the first cue.

and some days not so much at all. there are days when she doesn't think about it but to look fondly upon the posters on her wall--only three, first show, last show, and favorite show--and there are days when she shakes her head in quiet disbelief that that world was ever her chosen world. the headaches! the stresses!! the overwhelming mass of faces staring back at her every night at rehearsal!!! the struggle for perfection, never quite achieved!!!! and yet. if there had been no theater, she would not be herself today.

her mentor, a tall broad shouldered man with a killer laugh and a long ponytail, used to remind her, and everyone else, to do 'great good work with great good fun'. a silent mantra, a promise she makes to herself daily, a struggle that she cherishes.

so she puts a small square of those years in her back pocket, carries a piece in her purse, wears the smallest sweetest memories in a locket around her neck, and never forgets to remember that there were days, once upon a time, where magic happened, right in front of her eyes.

amazing grace
how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
i once was lost
but now am found
twas blind but now i see

-american hymn-


there are a myriad of thoughts weaving through my mind tonight. tomorrow is our birthday, the Bro's and mine. he's turning 28. 28! and i'm turning 25. a quarter of a century. it feels a bit surreal. and before all of you laugh at me, yes i'm aware i'm not old. but i have felt a bit...unsure, i suppose, lately. that is somewhat genetic, my father too is not always settled around his birthday. that's ok with me. it's a turning point, a little one, but a chance to reevaluate, shift my paradigm a little, prioritize.

and tonight, a dear friend sent me an early birthday gift that flipped my view, just a little, just enough. what was it? it was pictures. pictures from the latest wedding i went to, with her and her family; they are pictures of her kiddos from the wedding photographer. they are absolutely beautiful. my favorite is one of me and Younger Girlchild. we are on a couch in this old lighthouse. she is in her flower girl regalia; she was wearing sneakers instead of slippers, and those sneakers were adorable, red with heart laces (i think they were hearts!). so here we are: she has her flower circlet on her head and her legs tossed up in my lap. we are switching out sneakers for slippers. she is giggling, chuckling at my fumblings to tie the little toe ties; i am laughing, my face a simple mirror of hers. she is joyful. simple. and through her, i am joyful. thank you, Younger Girlchild. you are the first child i got to know as a baby, the first child i have tossed my whole heart to. thank you for holding on to it. thank you for reminding me, tonight, what pure happiness looks like. and, along with you, thanks for sharing the Older Girlchild, the Boy, and the Cousin with me. maybe someday you could explain to me how i got so lucky? until then. thank you all. each new birthday that i see, i think of how fortunate i was to have you all enter my world.

it has been quite a year. my best one yet, i dare say. there is a deep contentedness trickling through my bloodstream, steady. that is a gift. that is a gift on a universal scale. i think i'm lacking a lot of words tonight, but i am overwhelmed with gratefulness today. so. a list of my anchors and my joys.

1. my housemates, Bro and SIL. they offer compassion and forgiveness, room to grow and discipline. they offer love.

2. my parents.

3. old friends, especially my HLP and other 1/3, the Family Springfield, the Elf and the Doctor.

4. new friends, especially the Dodgeball Crew. who knew? i can make friends. :)

5. the animals, believe it or not, the critters who snuggle me and make me run and make me laugh.

6. running. a new joy, a new challenge. a change in body image, a growth of confidence, a new shield against apathy and sadness. new power.

7. writing! being published, finding ways to share my words, even if it's just with the 3 people who read this. it was ten years ago that i first started writing. woah.

8. my job. my amazing, challenging, doing-what-i-love job, my charge-full-steam-ahead-take-no-prisoners job!!

9. having the confidence, the inner and external tools, and when in doubt, the people to go to, to know that the ups and the downs will pass.

10. seeing--or trying to see--each hard minute, hour, or day as a useful one, an 'i'll-be-better-at-the-end'. and actually succeeding in doing so.

11. a stubborn belief in the principle that people are good. or trying to be good.

12. humor. seeing my world with at least a smidgeon of humor.

13. my freakin amazing coworkers.

14. a deep and growing love of mountains and trees and hiking and camping.

15. am i lucky enough to get fifteen? yes. it is the constant turning of the world.


on one final note: a sweet Great-Aunt died early this morning. she was funny and spunky and strong. and she will be missed. and as she died, at 11:30 in the morning in one part of the world, hours later at 11:30 in another part of the world, a new baby was born to a friend. coincidence? you decide.


and now i will wait for 9 minutes, call the Bro and wish him a happy birthday, and fall into bed.

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

-william carlos williams-


i love this poem. it's one of my all time favorites and i couldn't tell you why. maybe it's the sheer simplicity of it. maybe it's the rain. i'm a sucker for the rain.

LF never wrote back. s/he's not going to. tonight that sits heavy on my chest, weighing me down a little more than i would like. i made this move, i chose the direction, and now i am living with it. i'm not regretting. but just because i was the one who chose doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, just a little. i learned a long time ago that, with some exceptions, love lost living hurts farther than love lost dying. i did love LF. but there is a point when you protect your own heart. so tonight i suppose the weight is simply the shedding of pounds of a friendship that is no longer what it once was.

rough week. but in the midst i choose to focus on the amazing things--wonderful conversations with relatives who were involved, passionate, and wanted to come back into kids' lives. parents found. adoptions finalized. completing a case and closing it, only to get back some of the sweetest praise and most heartfelt thank yous i have ever gotten. the voices we speak for are often mute. sometimes they want to speak but don't know what to say. other times they have shouted themselves hoarse and have no voice left at all. still others are silent by choice. i am unendingly proud of the caseworkers i work with; at the end of the day i can imagine that they too are hoarse from all the shouting to make these children heard. yet they come back each morning and start again. why, you may ask? are you all masochists or something? is struggle and pain fun? well, because we have to, absolutely not, and not usually.

i think what it comes down to is this: there are so many opportunities for people's passions to come to life. and so many jobs where what you do directly impacts a person's worst day for the better. i know for me that i work with kids because they need advocates. what it is, where it lies, is in the simple fact that if i could not hold myself accountable to make even the smallest changes, if i could not ask that commitment of myself, if i couldn't find it in myself to put my heart and head and hands into this work, how could i possibly ask anyone else to do so in my place?

it is a selfish commitment at times; it is certainly enjoyable to tell others that you work in child welfare and have them shake their heads, grimace, praise you. i could never do that. it is a small badge of pride to wear on your sleeve, a strength movement that you get to be a part of.

it is also a selfless commitment at times; there are mornings where you wake up and think, i can't do this. you're always wrong, of course. you can, and you will, even if it's a hard day or a hurt day, even if you go in and end up having the best day yet. there are the angry phone calls that rattle your confidence, the saddest news that breaks a little part of you down. and those are days to face, deal with, and funnel away until there is nothing left of those tiny sacrifices. because, compared to our families, anything we deal with at work is tiny.

i have peppered the walls of my little cubicle with pictures of "my" kids outside my work world. i don't have all of them, but i'm getting there. i love being able to see them. besides the fact that my coworkers tell me they're all so beautiful, which they are and i should pass along to their parents(!), they act as a constant and calm reminder of why i work here. because every kid deserves to be as happy as that.

so maybe why i love that poem so much is that, in it, the littlest things matter immensely. i do the littlest things. and while they don't--and shouldn't--matter the most, they are invaluable to the cases. baby steps, i suppose.

in answer, an echo to answer mr. williams' poem:

so much depends
(said william carlos williams)
on that which is known to us
on two plus two equaling four
on waking following sleep
on breathing in and breathing out
on the brilliant exploding passage of time

he forgot though
that so much depends
on that which is unknown to us
on the song in breaking waves
on the mutter of hope in humanity
on small footfalls carrying grace
on tomorrow, and each day after.

-vera penn-

when all is done
I will love you as before this life began.
but I will still be me
whole and uninterrupted.
words featherweight on my back
fall from your lips like pearls dropped onto the sand.
I wake from sleep into dreams,
a sepia world receding with the tide
and approaching with the dawn.
words scatter the land, tumbleweeds rushing.
little pieces of who and why are scattered
and you hold one.
let there be no doubt,
no fear, no prejudice, no hate
nor confidence, no laughter, no joy, no heart
without the serene peace of knowing your love.
it is all done.
still I love you as I must have before we were,
for there is no other way but the page, and you;
could that be all: I am content.

there is light beyond the horizon, I hold the race close to my chest
and we sail on. the words under me the waves,
your love behind me the wind.
the road goes ever on and on, you are gone from me,
sight unseen, and still I love you.
-Vera Penn-

i am going to be published! just a little thing, a little poem in a little lit mag out of gainesville of all places, but it is yet another step towards bigger goals, bigger ideations. my book is 1/3 done. more than that really but the first section is the only one i feel confident about. this has been a dream i have tried to keep to myself; an aspiration that i have held very close to my heart. there is so much room for hurt and for failure in the world of writing. not in the writing but in the sharing with other people, any other people. my mom is the only person who reads on a regular basis. every bit of who i am goes into the page, more than i put anywhere else in my life, and for every person who i have shared with, half of them have scorned it or said it was no good or turned it down. that wears a little bit, tiny ragged edges around my heart, and yet i have to keep trying. why? well. i don't actually know. but i do. and much like my running, no matter how hard the race is, to see the email saying that someone, somewhere, is putting my words into published work, crossing that finish line, is well worth the effort and tears and time put into each word. and for every work that is scorned or disliked or turned down, i learn a little more about how to write. so it is, indeed, worth it.

in other news, if you remember the post about the Lapsed Friend, who i previously addressed as chris, i finally emailed this person. they wrote me first but i gathered my courage and realized that, well, i have sh*tall to lose. i can't imagine that LF will ever talk to me again, to be honest, and i can't blame LF. but it was damn time to be honest. i worked to not accuse, because i have nothing to blame LF for outside of being a crappy friend sometimes, which is only human. i tried to ask the questions that i wanted to ask, and explain my own growing silences over the past months. i took responsibility for my part in how LF and i got to where we are, and i tried to be tactful. we know how good i am at that...but i think maybe i did ok this time. i am both eager and anxious to see what, if anything, LF writes back. part of me is raring for the fight, the conversation; part of me wants to save that energy for my work, and running, and my friends here, for the places that i get as much as i give. and like i said, i don't think LF will write back. i might not were the positions reversed. i hope LF does. i hope LF remembers how, years ago, i held my tongue with another situation and how LF ended up getting very hurt and coming to me and saying, "you knew, didn't you?" and how LF said s/he wished i had said something earlier. but hindsight is bloody perfect and i doubt that any human, in all our common imperfections, can in fact display that much rugged integrity to recognize that sometimes the people who love you can hurt you the most, while all the time trying to tell you how much they love you.

and i wish i still loved LF like i used to. i just don't. i'm ok with that; i've spent many of the past months being hurt by how LF treated me and now i'm past it to where there is still interest in being friends, but for my sake we will probably never get to where we were. things shift, you know? and there are some, a rare few for each of us, who we hold on to through the daily earthquakes of life, who cling to us as hard as we to them.

a tidbit: the SIL told me the other day, in context of a long conversation, that i was optimistic. that is the first time anyone has called me that in my life. ever. and just when i thought i couldn't be surprised anymore...thanks, lady.

the milk rang into the pail, then muffled its ringing in folds of white froth, a measured bell sounding through thick, creamy warmth.
this is hank's bell.
in a deepening sky where the spearpoint firs scratch the clouds, already a moon--like a cast off paring from the setting sun. this is hank's bell, too.
this is hank's bell--secret between peaks of foam, muffled in warm white valleys--this is hank's bell ringing.
when it rings it's like ripples in a pool, spreading in all directions.
be nice if it could ring like this all the time...
but it's hard to stop out other noises.

-from 'Sometimes a Great Notion'-
-Ken Kesey-


we are down in eugene for the half now. looking back it seems as though i have trained forever, and for no time at all. i'm ready. the Brother is ready. the SIL is ready. there is nothing quite as wondrous as going into an undertaking full with the knowledge that you will complete it. it is human immortality. it is being able to fly.

a coworker asked how long i'd been training. i told him 3 months. in reality it is more like 13, which is when the running started. every step i've taken has led me here, the training steps and the racing ones, the fantastic steps and the awful ones, so it is hard to put a timeline to when training for *this* half started. in reality i have been training for this for my entire life, because isn't it the makeup of who i am that allows me to complete this joyful challenge?

this same coworker asked me who i was going with. i told him the Bro and SIL. we have run together and apart, shared snacks and advice and dinners, picked up for each other, taken care of each other's animals, made it possible for each of us to get here. this morning we packed up our cars--animals, courage, shoes, strength, snacks, confidence, hydro packs, determination--until they were full to the brim and caravanned down all together. he said it sounded like a pilgrimage. he's right. of sorts, it is.

finally he asked me why i ran. how do i answer that? to him, to myself? well, now that the race is over and today is finally done, i can only tell him that the run is my bell. each step is what keeps me close to myself. each step takes me a little farther from the heart of the matter of each day and reminds me that that which i love is housed all around me. i can tell him, tomorrow, if he asks again, that the sweat, the ultimate pain, the sweet sick glee of running downhill (it's just like falling off a log, folks!), the tears that swell in my throat as i step onto the track where so many great runners have traced ahead of me, that fleeting moment of glory and the ultimate calm of post race exhaustion--that's why i run. my bell, my bell, takes me to the edge of my own possibilities and then one step further.

to date: 3 half marathons, 2 10ks, 1 8k, 3 5ks. endless hours of training. 400 miles under my feet.

even more than that: confidence. heightened belief. strong muscles. religion of steps. comraderie with people i may never see again. finding the great equalizer in completing the same race as an olympic athlete. a daily deepening appreciation of the people around me, from my sibs who lead on ahead and cheer at the end, to my parents and friends who come to the races, to the friends who text and call to ask how it went, to everyone in my life who sent me facebook messages of pride and encouragement: the great increase in love that i feel for and from those people is enough to keep me going every step.

as my SIL puts it: your feet will take you oh-so-far. your heart will take you farther.

she grew up on the side of the road
where the church bells ring and
strong love grows
she grew up good
she grew up slow
like american honey

there's a wild wild whisper blowing in the wind
calling out my name like a long lost friend
oh i miss those days as the years go by
oh nothing sweeter than summertime
and american honey

-lady antebellum-

i drove out to forest grove today to see the Old Friend graduate from college. her parents were there, her brother and sister, her husband, her in-laws, her friends. she is the first in her family to graduate from college. it is astounding to me. i am so proud of her, more than i can say, and i cannot imagine how hard she has worked to get here. so congratulations to her, a hundred times over.

the drive to forest grove was gorgeous. the mountains, a northerly view of the coast range, were sprinkled with sitting mist, those wavy lines that snake in and out of the trees gently. the sun peered from behind low dark stormy clouds now and then, gasping and glancing a brilliant sheen. i love spring in oregon. april brings out the best: my favorite is the rain that is cleansing and warm, the kind that rattles the gutters gently and whips the cherry blossoms downward in a hail of pink gossamer. everything seems new on days like this.

this week has been...demoralizing. more apt is that i have let is be demoralizing. i *love* my job. i do. and i am happy there, no matter what those of you who have seen me this week have observed. but this is a week where i have to remind myself that happiness in this job has to come in an underlying shelf of positivity. it is not found in the day to day interactions, there are no children around with that illuminating eraser quality to make even the worst seem a little easier. it is not *always* found in the day to day interactions, i should say. it is a trick of the mind, to remind yourself that you are indeed happy in your work even on days when you are not. this month has been hard on the families and children that inhabit my work world. and in the wake of the recession, when we hope and strive to make things better, it is frustrating to see them struggle. it is both the carrot which pushes us to work harder and be more for them, and the whip that simply beats us down by reminding us that no matter how hard we work, it's never quite enough. it is weeks like this that make me question whether i am indeed cut out for this work.

the HLP reminds me that weeks like this are rare and random; days are more common but even those are farther between. and she reminds me that yes, i am cut out for this. she reminds me that the core training we got provided us with a powerful core to draw from, and a support group that now stretches far and wide.

the SIL reminded me that working in human services is analogous to training for a marathon. sometimes the run is a terrible 2 miler, other times it's a great 9 miler, other times it's a mediocre 14 miler. no matter what the distance or the quality, i am stronger for having run it. i am more in tune with my own footfalls and breathing, more in tune with the world outside, more confident in my own capabilities and strength at the end. so it seems to be with human services. there are days that, quite frankly, are terrible. terrible for little reasons and big ones. there are days that are amazing. amazing because the child was returned to the parent, amazing because i closed a case that took eons and sweat and diplomacy to close. and there are mediocre days, the ones where i walk away knowing that i simply broke even that day---no harm done, no help given. and yet for each of those days i am a better social worker. i can learn on any of those days. i can prioritize, communicate, make breakthroughs, and run in to brick walls, but simply by being there and putting the time in, i am building a stronger foundation for the rest of my professional life. now if only i could remember that without needing to have a tearful conversation with her! i am amazed at her patience with me. one of these days she's going to tell me to find a counselor. i think i'll preempt that advice. i don't see how anyone can work in this world and not need someone to talk to occasionally.

the trick, then, seems to be lifting oneself out of the everyday fight and finding the big picture. can i do that? i don't actually know. i can try though.

in other news...the countdown is ON!! 4 days to the next half marathon. 13.1 miles. it is the most prepared i've been going in to a half and i intend to give it my all. at this point it is all mental prep. my legs and lungs and heart and abs, they're stronger than ever, and i can feel every step of those miles in my calves and shins already. i am both excited and terrified to be running in the Hometown. i love running here because it is primarily anonymous; i don't have to wonder if every car that passes me is an old schoolmate judging my pokey speed or a theater acquaintance wondering what the hell I'M doing running? fat girl running, kids, it ain't for the faint of heart. but i am also excited to cross a finish line with the Parentals and the HLP and other people i know there. i am excited to run on streets that i know endlessly, and run past buildings housing past lives. i am excited to run with the ghosts of who i used to be. and, as a lovely postscript to the whole shenanigans, i then get to (after some r-and-r, and a nice looooong shower), get to go to the 8th (WHAT?! 8?!!) birthday party of Older Girlchild. i cannot believe she is 8. i found a picture of her and Boychild the other day; they are about 2 and 3 1/2, dressed in princess (him) and king (her) costumes. for the longest time, seeing them every day, it was hard to see the differences as they aged. now, seeing them every three months or so, i am surprised--and oh so delighted--to be able to see them growing into wonderful big kids, from the tiny toddlers and little kids they have been for so long. and to get to go to her party, see her extended families and her parents and siblings, is all the more reason to run loud and proud and strong.

so here we go....ready? set? ENDURANCE!!!!

in running. in work. in life.

so you go yours
and i'll go mine
the best that we can hope is time
will find a way to meet us
in between
and i will wave as you pass by
and i expect you'll do the same
but if you don't
i'll see you on the slower side
of time

we'll synchronize our hearts
and in the depths of deepest darkest parts
naught will undermine the steady beat
and when your head's a hundred million miles and years away from here
i dare to hope you'll land upon your feet

-jessica parsons-taylor-

letting go of people is such hard work it seems. harder than it needs to be at times. in my life i have learned to do so, although not gracefully. let go of two of the most amazing grandparents anyone could have. let go of a love going nowhere. let go of people who used to define my world and found others to fill the void. i am struggling right now, with a friend. for sake of privacy, i'll just refer to this person as chris. chris and i have been friends for a while now, not long in grand terms but a decent amount of time, and now, living miles and miles apart, i feel a growing distance between us. i think if it was shared it would be better, but i'm not sure that chris can feel it. i think for chris that the relationship is still as strong as it used to be, and i don't know how to tell this person that things have changed. i've changed. and chris has changed. for better or for worse, i don't recognize the person anymore. it happens that way. and i've learned over the years that the people who are worth holding on to, will come back into your life even if there's been separation or distance. i'm ok with that. i almost like that rhythm, that ebb and flow of people in and out. but there is another element that has bothered me for a while and it is one of the reasons i have disconnected: chris only seems to contact me when s/he needs some kind of support, when things are rough. i love being able to be there for my friends. and i have so many who give back to me tenfold. but if i'm to be a friend to someone, i want to talk to them on the good days too. i want to know when things are good too; i'm not willing to simply be a dumping ground. it's not so much that i want to know chris would be there for me if i needed it--i think s/he would, because at heart chris is an amazing person, kind and loyal and smart, and s/he is so solid for friends. but i don't want to just hear from chris when things are bad in life.

talking with my mom tonight, she reminded me that the job i'm in is taxing emotionally. it's why i love dodgeball and running and softball, it's why i write and why i drive, i have to send that intensity somewhere so that i can leave my work at work when the day ends. and that the nature of my work and life right now is such that to protect my own little heart, i do have to choose how far to extend myself and how much to let chris unload on me. she reminded me that that's ok to do too. not a lot, not always, but once in a while i don't have to go full bore for people who don't always reciprocate. she also told me to stop whining about it and have the conversation, and she's right.

i've been in portland for a year and a week now. it has flown by, absolutely smoked it, and i am so happy here. one of the things i've learned through some interesting experiences and lots of conversations with my wise SIL is that i have to be sure of myself before i can be with someone else. what does this have to do with chris? well, sometimes i know that chris comes to me for a solid ground, someone to remind him/her of who s/he is. but even after a year of hard work and narcissistic soul searching, i am still a little lost myself. and i find that i can't--don't feel capable of--accompanying someone to find themselves when i don't really know who i am yet. i'm approaching it, i know that i am, and i know that i'll never truly pin down that answer; as humans we are far too malleable for that. i need to have this conversation with chris. but how do you tell someone that you can't be--aren't any longer--the person they want you to be? worse, how do you tell someone that you used to love dearly that you need a break? even just a little one?

i probably shouldn't be writing about this. but i am well known for my awkward capability of putting my foot in my mouth. so that's where i am.

in other news...i sat on front desk yesterday and got to play peek a boo with a little guy, about 2, and it made me so happy to know that i could still connect with the kids i don't know. i miss those kids. i miss the relief nursery, the hands on work we did there, the intense passion that encompassed that place, and i know that one day i'll go back. for now though, i remember that i had some amazing conversations with parents this week, people who are working hard to rebuild their lives for their kids, and who were so thrilled that i would be looking into their native heritage. it seems that in my line of work, every victory no matter how seemingly small is absolutely gigantic. i have been re-taught the value of a little humor, treating the person on the other end of the line with respect no matter what, working with them instead of against them. i do love this work, so incredibly much.

eugene half marathon in two weeks!! i did an awesome 6 miler yesterday, this weekend i get to run the first 8-9 of the half marathon course down in eugene, which i'm excited for. somewhere along the line 13 miles just became a reality, not something i want to do but something i can do. what is that all about?!

i hope you all sleep as well as i'm going to. i hope you are all as happy as i get to be. shine on little bright stars--we'll all find our right to be eventually.

when i am lost, look for me in the land
when i am hungry, look for me in the streams and rivers
when i am thirsty, look for me in the sky
only in nature where i find my whole self
true and unbroken.

only in the wild wide world where i hear my soul
whispering among trees
sinking into my heart

-lillian pincus-

the world and i are a bit at odds tonight. i wanted rain this weekend, it insisted on being sunny. i was planning on a relaxing fun saturday full of baby showers and best friends, instead i was back at the emergency vet's for hours on end. the run today was supposed to rejuvenate, instead it was work. that being said i feel calm. this is new for me. i am used to feeling topsy-turvy on days such as this, like a carnival ride stuck upside down endlessly. tonight though, tonight i am quietly confident that the life i have is good.

is this what it feels like to grow up, just a smidgeon? because there are days when i want nothing more than to be 7 again. or even better, 5, at the beginning of self-knowledge, when tying my shoes was the hardest task and the biggest accomplishment, when sitting in timeout during dinner was the worst consequence, when reading under the covers with the 2nd (or 3rd) hidden flashlight was the most fun. when joy was not something i had to look for under the bed. but anymore it is almost a given that each day will bring something good. that's amazing to me, that instead of looking for what i need, i can rest assured that it will be there--and it seems that it is only in the relaxation of hope that i can find what it is that fulfills me.

recently i have begun the practice of making eye contact with bums on corners. i don't know why. but in doing so i have made silent acquaintances, and even though i don't often have a dollar or fifty cents to give them, it is easy to give some respect. it seems to me that every time we drive by a person in need without acknowledging them, no matter whether we believe we should help someone begging, we take away a little of the greater humanity that could be present in our species. that should be present in our species. how much worse could it get to be begging on a corner? to have had a home, or a family, or to have fought in the military, or be an addict needing a fix without hope of rehab or help, and then to add the indignity of having your fellow citizens drive by as though you don't exist? as though you are not worthy of a momentary glance, a lifted hand, a smile? as though you aren't worth of recognition as a person?

i'm aware that more often than not, the men and women who beg are going to use that money for booze or crack. i'm aware that they are the people who frequent emergency rooms late at night looking for handouts, and that they are the people who live in the lobby at the DHS offices during the day. i'm not saying that we should blindly hand over money and ignore the root issues. i'm not even saying that all of them are good kind people who deserve help. some of them, like some of us, are rude and intolerant. some of them will never be helped. but in a country that preaches tolerance and forgiveness, that clings so tightly to the word of God and righteousness, i think that we can afford some of our humanity to those people on the street. that part isn't hard. i can imagine that for those of you who work in the direct service jobs where you encounter these people on a daily basis--and i don't include myself or pretend to know what that's like--this isn't something you necessarily want to do, because you do have to deal with them regularly, and i can imagine it's frustrating and awful and makes you want to tear your hair out. i get that. but i think for those of us who don't work in emergency services or crisis relief or homeless shelters, we can do a little bit here and there by simply looking the dude holding a sign on a corner in the eyes. it's an acknowledgment that he is there. that we recognize that no matter what else he is, he is a person. that doesn't seem hard. i can't imagine anyone would lose any part of who they are by doing that.

i know that this is idealistic. maybe it's even stupid. but hey, i'm a social worker. if i don't believe that we can indeed change the state of the world, then what right do i have being in this job? isn't it part of my job to look for that which is malleable in the worst people i encounter? isn't it part of my job to see that anything can be changed, and offer a hand to do so? we don't work to take kids away. we work to put families back together. sometimes that means seeing the most possible good in people who have made bad choices, done stupid things, are evil. and sometimes that's not possible. but isn't it my job to do everything i can to ensure that a change could happen? i think that with the passing of days comes a recognition of the terrible swiftness which moves this world. i gotta use my time. so do you.

there is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know
the place where the sidewalk ends.

-shel silverstein--

first off a HUGE HAPPY BRITHDAY to my wonderful sister in law. thank you for being absolutely the best SIL a girl could have. love you muchly!

it's late so I'm going to try to keep this short, but there are thoughts rambling that I just have to get out. went to the coast this weekend to be "helper-kid wrangler-parent reliever" for my favorite family at a wedding. all three kids were in it and they were adorable, calm, very mature--especially for the exhausted variety of 7, 6, and 4 yos that they were by the time we put them in my car yesterday afternoon to go back to the hotel. that morning i had woken up to the 7 and 6 yos climbing into bed with me at 6 am. now we all know i'm the opposite of a morning person, but they can wake me with a grin at any time. and yesterday as i lay there with one snuggled on each side of me, watching out the window at the gray sky and listening to them talk, i couldn't help but think back to when i first met them--pre 4 yo, so that's how long i've been lucky enough to have them in my life.

i thought for a long time that i might never find what i was really good at. as much as i love theater...it wasn't ever that perfect fit. and when i moved back home from california, i was so depressed that i could barely get out of bed in the morning. in fact the only reason i did was because their awesome understanding mom told me that i had to be there at 9am every morning to help out. i wasn't always on time. and there were a few days i didn't make it. but more often than not, i got there. for many months the three of them were the only ones who could make me smile and forget the rest of my world. it was so easy with them, holding the baby and rocking her, taking them to preschool, making lunch. it was simple and doable and somewhere in there i fell completely and totally in love with them. i am fairly convinced that until my own kids, and neices and nephews come along, there will be no others who quite measure up. between the three of them, and their cousin who is sandwiched in there between the 4 and 6 yos, what i was looking for appeared without my noticing it. one day i was dithering around their house talking to their mom about not knowing what i wanted to do in school, and she said "kids. you love kids. and you're good with them. try teaching." well, i did, and it was wrong, but through that i fell into working with needy kids, and from there into social work.

looking back it seems much simpler than it was at the time. when the days were filled with kids who willingly took my hand, shared their stories, and sang songs, and parents who didn't mind sharing their kids with me, it makes sense that those were the days that led me back to myself. they were all peanut butter smears and wrestling pillow fights, piggy back rides and squabbles, snuggles and questions, and through them i learned--hell, am still learning--how to be the version of myself that they see. that they love. this weekend the 7yo told me that i was still a kid. it's the highest compliment she can pay--in her eyes, i am old enough to comfort and care for them, and still fun enough to be considered a kid. well, that's how i'm choosing to take it at least.

they are smart. smart to the point of brilliant at times. they are funny, and fun, and so very kind. this weekend they were patient and far calmer than they had any right or reason to be. they create among themselves rules and explanations, they hold each other's hands, and help each other out. it doesn't always go smoothly. duh. but i am proud to be considered their friend. incredibly grateful to their parents for letting me share in their family from time to time. very lucky to have them in my life.

before this weekend i was losing some faith. every day at work brings some new ups and downs, and thursday and friday in particular were hard as i assisted a caseworker with preparing for court and other issues surrounding a case. it was most definitely the worst i'd seen since i started work. i pride myself on my toughening skin, after almost three years of being involved in this type of work, there is little that i let upset me anymore. at least visibly, at least in the office. i do nobody any good by getting sad or shocked by the incidents and families we work with. and i'm learning to reframe to see the tremendous and good effect of our work. but hearing this case was upsetting. and while i had lost faith before, in my coworkers, in parents and family members of our kids, in those around me, i feel that this time was bigger than ever before. and maybe that's part of it. maybe there will be days and moments that will simply be overwhelming, a tsunami of information and emotion rising above me. maybe i need to learn to just let the waves break over me and wash on. i think i already am. but man, friday, friday i was lost in this case, in those kids. couldn't see the forest for the trees, as they say, and was failing in my struggle to reframe in a positive light.

having made a promise to this wonderful family, i wasn't able to run this weekend. not normally a big deal, but that's where i go. that's where i get my faith back, my confidence and courage, even on the terrible runs i feel a little better for having run at all. at the very least i know that if i can go 5 or 7 or 9 miles, i can go back into work the next day, look at it differently, start over, and do my utmost best work. i couldn't do that this weekend. and by the time i got to the coast i was exhausted, completely drained emotionally. but by the time we got to this morning, after breakfasts and dinners and a wedding and bedtime and hugs and songs, after helping their parents set up easter in the rental apartment, i realized that what i'm missing up in portland is a family (one that i get to see regularly) to remind me that there are still good parents in the world. that there are kids who get all of the love and joy and structure and education and love that they deserve and need. there are kids who aren't expected to be more than kids, who don't have to take care of their little siblings, and who get to play. hey look--there it is--restoration of belief--and once again i was caught unawares by the three of them, by the whole family. thanks, guys.

it's very late all of a sudden and i know this is overly sentimental. but there it is. i don't tell them because it's all words that i'm bad at saying out loud, things and thinks that they are too young to hear or necessarily understand, but thanks for saving my life, and for not caring if i looked good when i came over, and for letting me eat dinner with you and tuck you in, and for smiling at me. sleep well tonight, and i'll see you guys really soon. i love you very much.

if we shadows have offended
think but this and all is mended
that you have but slumbered here
while these visions did appear
and this weak and idle theme
no more yielding, but a dream
gentles, do not reprehend,
if you pardon, we will mend
and as i'm an honest puck,
if we have unearned luck
now to 'scape the serpent's tongue
we will make amends ere long
else the puck a liar call,
so goodnight, unto you all
give me your hands, if we be friends
and robin shall restore amends

-shakespeare-

luna and i went running tonight, after a particularly stormy monday that simply flew by at work. that had something to do with how much time i spent trying to figure out a payment plan for the 2000 dollars that i now owe for max. which, while being ENTIRELY worth it...is not always worth it. ah, the guilt. plus i had a lot to do, spent some time gabbing with my cubicle neighbor about coworkers and her baby set-up (she's due in 5 weeks!), and watched the sky shift and fall outside my window. so after this day that trucked right along, i came home to find my brother out and my SIL at her clinicals, and the little bad dog was hungering for a run. i threw on my new (!) shoes and we headed out.

the bluffs were windy today. lu and i got batted around and hammered by rain; off and on the sun smudged the clouds a pale yellow. and every runner we passed waved a friendly hello, not a big gesture but just a small lift of the hand and little nod, an acknowledgment of the cameraderie that exists in a sport that is singular in its solitude. the far off mountains--those rolling strong hills that border the northwest end of town--were layered with little pockets of mist here and there. it was like living in a kesey novel. i love this place. i love how i can see mount st helens, mount adams, and mount hood on a clear day; i love how the trees whip around and rattle the sky on a dark day; i love how secure i feel here. i love how i can see my life stretching out ahead of me here, with the curves and the straightaways, and i love how that life looks.

come on without
come on within
you'll not see nothing
like the mighty Quinn

-bob dylan-

it's been a rough week. with the grand exception of a fantastic first night of dodgeball this season (we won both our games!) and a spectacular run today and monday. which, now that i think about it, are great exceptions. so maybe not a rough week. just an up-and-down one. one that ended with my cat, maximilian, in the emergency vet hospital for 2 days, where he still is tonight.

i know he's a cat. and i'm well aware that there are a lot of people who don't necessarily understand how much he means to me. or think that i'm heading towards crazy-cat-lady land. i can assure you i'm not. i'm already fairly certain that max is going to be a one-time deal in my life, because after him any other cat is going to have a hard act to follow. seeing him in a lot of pain and being told by my vet that his problem was one that does kill big male cats (of which he is certainly one) was rough. it also created, as my SIL reminded me, a good learning experience. i am, one day, going to outlive my sweet feline. and while that idea pretty much rips me up right now, it has also been...healthy, i suppose, to realize that that's going to happen. i was also thrilled with my vet clinic. they were kind, helpful, very attentive, and incredibly considerate in regards to both max's health and the costs of pet care. there was no guilt regarding how long i waited to bring him in, and no guilt about being concerned about the money. they're never like that! they always operate and interact in such a noble manner. and that was such a relief.

in other parts of life...the running has been good. i seem to be alternating between great runs and cruddy ones, but i think that's all part of the development process. today i did six miles over hills faster than i ever have, and it hit me during the last half mile that i had run almost half of the half-marathon that we're all doing in five weeks. there was no doubt underlying that realization, no fear or wavering confidence. i've done halfs before, and this one will only be better than the last two. i have felt less and less like a runner this week, faltering and struggling with new shoes and tight calves and a seriously sore core (CROSS-TRAINING!!!), but today, i realized it wasn't so much about how i run physically, but how i run mentally. no doubt today that i can and will do this half in may...no doubt that i will enjoy it either. and that made me feel more like a runner than any of my good runs have.

well i built me a raft and she's ready for floatin
ol' mississippi, she's calling my name
catfish are jumpin, that paddle wheel thumpin
black water keeps rollin on past just the same
ol' black water, keep on rollin
mississippi moon won't ya keep on shinin' on me
yeah keep on shinin' your light
gonna make everything, pretty mama
gonna make everything all right
and i ain't got no worries
cuz i ain't in no hurry at all

--the doobie brothers!--


so i'm sitting here tonight with one foot soaking in an epsom salt tub and one foot wrapped with an ice pack. my shins ache, but not as much as they did the last time. my back is twinging and, in my shorts and tshirt, i'm now freezing. if you're wondering why i do it, well, you're not the only one! the bro and SIL are out of town right now, on a well-deserved vacation, and while they sweetly arranged for a friend to come and exercise the pups each day, it turns out she can only come tomorrow. so when i got home tonight, Gwen and Luna were scaling the walls of the house. i couldn't bring myself to leave them behind, so we saddled up and headed out. they fell all over themselves! it was pretty cute to watch Gwen bouncing along like a little puppy. they are such good dogs. but still. on the way back, after the scheduled two miles for today, we stopped and i grabbed some mexican food, which absolutely hit the spot. and now i'm sitting here wondering why the hell do i run?

i run because i feel better afterwards.

i run because the burn in my lungs and legs replaces the burn in my heart and head.

i run because i get to be outside.

i run to see the envious looks on the faces of people driving by.

i run so that i can lose weight.

i run so that i can do a half marathon.

i run so that i can do a marathon.

i run so that i don't disappoint myself.

i run to reframe each day.

i run because luna loves me most when we're running.

i run so that when i'm tired at night, it's a tired i earned.

i run because it makes my father proud.

i run because the bro and SIL believe that i can.

i run because it makes my mother smile.

i run for the bad runs, and the good ones.

i run because every time i do, i'm a little bit stronger.

i run because the stronger my body gets, the stronger my mind gets.

i run to fall down so that i can get up again and keep running.

i run to prove myself wrong.

i run because it's the only way i have learned how to be free.

i was standing by Jackson Pollock
when a woman spoke French in my ear
she said you don’t love me no more
that i should take a fast train out of here

so i jumped into that painting and rode it
nineteen forty-eight number 1
all the way back to Oregon
what a long, long way to run

and the sun sits in a circle of yellow
in a gallery on the upper east side
there’s the purple of night right next door
as on a silver paintwhip i ride

Jackson where are you, come find me
as i stand wondrous and broken by your lyrics i fall
Jackson where are you, come find me
with each splatter line you twist and you call

but i can hear nothing at all
cuz i was standing by Jackson Pollock
when you cut me down from so tall
so come find me i’m Jackson, i’ll take you away

and on the wings of the paint flicks
we’ll ride out of the sky

-minnie reznick-


my father taught me to love jackson pollock. they were paintings of freedom. he told me how pollock used to stand over his paintings and fling the colors every which way, and how even though it looked like there was no design or intent, that pollock always knew what he was doing. i always loved him because even though he knew, he seemed to have to search for it. i like knowing that even people who are amazing at what they do, respected and revered and famed for it, have to search.

i've been fighting to be a runner. pretending and pushing, wearing the clothes and the shoes, doing the races, trying. it started out of family and continued after sheer stubbornness when people around me indicated they weren't positive i could do it. that was when i knew i would complete a race, if for no other reason than to prove them wrong. and in my new life up here, my new world, the mantle of "runner" is something that no one here doubts on me. so i tried to not doubt it on myself. after almost a year, two 5ks, an 8k, two 10ks, and two half marathons, you would think that i would be sure. but still...when you are a "fat girl runner" as my SIL calls us both, when it's hard to breathe and everybody runs past you and your knees and calves and back hurt, it's hard to be sure.

this week has sucked. i ran a shitty 5k on sunday, slow and gross. the training runs i've done so far for our half marathon in (eep!) May were awful. i was feeling down about it, thinking maybe, just mayyyybe it was time to end the charade. but, again out of sheer stubbornness, i hadn't give up yet when i took the little black bad border collie and headed out for a 3.5-er. for some reason my determination tonight was all in the stamina. it wasn't about running fast or pretty or well, it was about going and going. about 9 blocks in my calves seized up. i've had terrible shin splints and i know that's where the pressure was coming from, but knowing it didn't help. so i slowed down to a walk for a block, and then decided, fuck it. if i'm going to do it...i'm going to do it. and then i flashed on a technique that one of my "running for non-marathoners" had described, where you take whatever is getting in your way on that run, be it the hill or the heat or the pain, and instead of fighting it, you welcome it. so--several times on this run actually--i said out loud, "hello pain. come run with me, because i'm not stopping."

yup, people looked at me like i was crazy. but the first time i said it, bam, just like that my calves released. entirely. and then my knees released and then my core, and all of a sudden i had sped up without noticing. when i needed to slow i did, but i never stopped running. luna kept time by me, sniffing and snorgling and walking sometimes, but she never pulled or tugged. and all of a sudden i was at the turn around point, and when i did it hit me: i'm going to run all the way back. it wasn't a fight, or a goal, or a question. it was simply fact. i can do this. no problem. and it wasn't! as i came back around the corner Mount Hood was towering in front of me, absolutely beautiful as ever. and then i felt like i could fly.

and by the time i made it home, it had happened. all of a sudden, i was a runner. it was no longer a fight, no longer a facade. just fact. i am a runner. i know i will have my hard days and bad runs, i know i need to adjust my schedule and pay attention to my food. i need to be sure to take care of myself. why?

because i'm a runner.