And still counting ... (14,634-14,745)

a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting from Wegmans, the lovely baker who spoke so kindly to me

that she drew extra hearts on the cake, a new yoga mat, a book to read, great weather for gardening, windows open

windows cleaned, a neighbor who texted me the picture of the "fancy soap", changing colors in the leaves, a foam roller, chicken taco soup

a really good night's sleep, warm clothes, clean spaces, handmade birthday cards from the kids, Amy's creativity (the string light posts)

the runners' groups, Jenne who listens, birthday wishes, a clean house, new running shoes

the fleece blanket on the bed, a gift in the mail from Marshall's Mom, finishing books from the library, Harry Potter movies with Erin, the vivid dream about my dad--finding my voice

rest days from running, the neighbor's daughter who loves my kids, 66 Books, Heather's email and prayer, leaves on the ground

that cleaning day with windows open and music playing and all the feelings it brought up in me and my kids of playdates and community and what is so very special about being here, remembering big thick slices of banana chocolate chip bread, remembering coffee with friends on the couch, remembering wagon rides and biking and running through the yard, Mars by the moon

Ruth, the gorgeous trees outside the windows, food in the fridge, fleece blankets in the mail, Live G Free General Tso's chicken at Aldi!!!!!

the good smelling fall scented soaps, running support groups, unexpected and unscheduled bench time, pain that stopped, foam rollers and tai chi balls

her eighteenth birthday, celebrating, burgers on the grill, open windows, colorful trees

Good Tidings tea, a soft blanket (a box of them, actually), a Misfits box in the mail, little cabbages, the view of the woods from my seat in the school room

an appointment with a physical therapist, a glimpse of the future, shimmery curtains and disco balls, music from the little speaker, glow sticks and wands

a season's last bonfire (oh, the double meaning), a husband who is a great father, that he tended a fire on a Friday night, that he hung up shimmery curtains that fell down from her door frame because he saw the need, Harry Potter movies with popcorn--that we would watch them again and again

a goal planner in the mail, laundry tumbling in the dryer, chicken soup with rice, a book of poetry gifted by my poet friend, pullovers

piano music in the house, warm drinks, cold coffee, a green light to run again, that old man hunched over in his yard with mismatched clothes

cookbooks, Lanie, Tuesday tea and poetry, foggy mornings, hamstring exercises

Day story

 October 2020

Outside my window, golds and crimsons. Crunchy maple leaves afoot. Breath billows from my mouth in exhaling sighs. Woodpiles stacked and covered. I've had the delight of watching a sliver of a moon, and Mars reflecting light like a bright star as it dances around the moon on a celestial stage. There are two full moons this month, and next week we hope to catch the Orionid shower. 

Giving thanks in the first week quarantine. And today, a very memorable way to celebrate her eighteenth. "I birthed a person eighteen years ago today," I told Shane. "And look at us! We still look good!" Laughter. I'm thankful to have Lanie in my life. She is smart. She is quirky. Her laughter pours out easier as the years go by. She is wildly talented. She is hard working. She is diligent. She is responsible. She is so very literal. All that she is, a mystery to me still, and yet close and familiar. How did you go from my arms, my lap, into this wonderful woman? Lanie: your best is before you. Enjoy and embrace the journey!

In the school room, book and blankets. We press on. Signing up for an AP exam and virtual college tours. Working on applications. Padding life with margin on margin. Presence. Preparation. Savor.

From the kitchen, all the birthday things. She requested chicken soup with rice for lunch. And for dinner, burgers on the grill with fries. I'm baking her cake--she left it up to me to decide. Pumpkin cake, layered, with 7-minute frosting. Gluten and dairy free. 

I am stunned. We've been transitioning and I try to leave more in her hands. I try to advise and encourage her. I try to be the mother to her that I never had, the mother I needed a mother to be to me. And really, my girl, she was little once. We went from four to eighteen in a blink and a blur. I remember a front yard party--was she eleven? Twelve? A thirteenth birthday. A sixteenth outing. The years we kept pressing on, oh that I had pressed in. Lord, help me to press in. 

I value motherhood. My own mother was discontent being a stay-at-home. Discontent with a lot of things. She shaped my heart early on to view that life as a bother. But Lanie changed it all, even before I ever held her. I remember being so excited with a positive pregnancy test. I remember gasping awestruck the day I saw her spine in an ultrasound. I remember so very many precious things. My mother missed out on the beautiful gifts before her, missed out on shaping and guiding her girls for the future. But I know that children are a gift, and I am grateful. 

I don't want to forget, but I do. I was so focused on what was next. The next child. The next move. The next grade. The next co-op. The next year. I was focused on moving forward and getting through. Even now, a quarantine, and a focus on all the nexts: getting past, getting scheduled, getting done, getting out, getting ready. Hurry up and wait. But here we are. Let me just stay in Now, the gift of presence. This is how time slows. Eye to eye. Unhurried. Don't let me forget that, especially.

I am reading Run for Your Life by Mark Cucuzella, a timely book as I'm benched by injury. Run to the Finish by Amanda Brooks; Big Book of Marathon and Half Marathon Training by Van Allen, Yasso, and Burfoot; Don't Overthink It by Anne Bogel; Eventown by Corey Ann Hayden; Cosy: the British Art of Comfort by Laura Weir; The Cider House Rules by John Irving. 

Around the house, we prepare in the pause. Flickering flames, shimmering curtains, glittering stars, warmth of blankets and bonfire--preparing for a proper celebration. Hopeful. 

I am hearing Lanie practicing piano. I am jealous already of the day when she is gone and her music fills someone else's ears and heart. I hear her work and worry the same sections, each time committing the movement to muscle memory and mind. She works to memorize her pieces. The notes cascade, a tumbling down, raining sound. It is beautiful. I listen in the learning. This moment: Ballade No2 in F Major by Chopin.

A view of my favorite things:

 

At the table, this family of four. I am amazed at all my heart can hold: love, sadness, excitement, admiration, pride, loss, hope (and sometimes fear and worry, sometimes impatience and anger). Motherhood is a linear journey that explodes in all directions along the way, shooting out a million feelings and projecting thoughts and hopes. 

Happy birthday, dear Lanie,

The Lord bless you
And keep you
Make His face shine upon you
And be gracious to you
The Lord turn His
Face toward you
And give you peace

 

May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
Your family and your children
And their children, and their children

 

May His presence go before you
And behind you, and beside you
All around you, and within you
He is with you, He is with you

In the morning, in the evening
In your coming, and your going
In your weeping, and rejoicing
He is for you, He is for you

 

Amen.

 

(excerpts from "The Blessing" by Kari Jobe)

Day 18,616

Yesterday I had a list of things I wanted to do, inspired by a post I saw on Instagram of Miss Linda's (former) house. The new owners have transformed her house into a community teaching center, and the backyard garden Linda had lovingly tended, that lay fallow these three years, was dug up and repurposed to be a community food garden. 

She loved her garden. As a preschool teacher, I'm sure she'd be content to know that her home is a center that teaches trades to low-income families and that her once beautiful flower garden will be a source of feeding others. But, still, I felt a little sad.

My yard has many gardens, and like Linda's, they've been growing out of control these past three years. I plan to take it back every season, every week. But after seeing those photos of Linda's garden, I decided there was no other way I'd want to spend this year's birthday than by being home and tending my spaces while I'm here and while I can. I made a list: dust baseboards and wall corners; wash windows; cut grass; tend gardens. 

Erin and I took the day off school and went to Wegmans. They recently started carrying gluten-free bakery items, and once when we were there I noticed they had birthday cakes. Yesterday for the first time in years, I bought a Wegmans birthday cake. I took it to the counter and asked the baker to write "Happy birthday" and said it was my birthday. She looked at me so warmly and said just as sincerely as her gaze, "Happy birthday!" She got out the decorating icing. "What is your name?" 

And she wrote on the cake. "I drew some hearts on it too," she said. Later last night, I was surprised at how the exchange stuck with me. I told Shane about it, "I felt like such a little kid saying it was my birthday." And the way she spoke was so tender, I teared up in the night's darkness. Grateful.

I cut the grass yesterday and worked in a garden near the house, trimming up bushes, sweeping the walkway, and clearing out spent plants. The afternoon flew by and I didn't even get to the other things.

Just to say: Wegmans bakery cakes are really wonderful. We ate big pieces (Erin claiming double frosting roses first!). So good.

Today, I woke up and Googled butt muscle pain that bit me bad after Monday's long run, prompting me to walk only on Tuesday. I ran again yesterday, a delightful easy three miles, but spent the rest of the day in pain every time I sat down (driving, mowing the lawn, at the table). I decided to hold off the 5k miles for the virtual race today since there's a racing window from October 1-5, and I found some great stretches to do for a sore bottom. 

I ate waffles for breakfast on this 51st year and one day. My nose is overwhelmed by bleach from cleaning the bathroom. And since I'm not running today, I'm going to work on washing windows because I love clean windows.

In my twenties, the foundation of a future was being set. In my thirties, we were building our family and home. In my forties, I was raising kids and chasing dead ends. And now in my fifties, I'll be sending my kids off into the world. But also, I've been getting super clear on values and time. I'm thankful for all these years, and thankful especially these years I started up running. I told Shane I'm excited to be in this stage of life and I look forward to doing all that I can while I can. Life is a gift.