Hatchlings: A Love Story

The sun came up and revealed the dozens of tiny eggs laying on the damp patch of sand. The eggs were from many mothers who lived within the same community, and shared the same customs, and often the very chore of raising the young into independent young turtles. Hatchling A poked his head right through his shell, looked around, and promptly started to cry as there was no one there to tend to his needs. Instantly, his mother recognized his wails as her own offspring, and came forward to tend to his needs. Feeling secure and loved, he followed her back to their den. There was a cozy fire burning, a big pot of savory stew cooking for dinner, and papa turtle sitting in his worn recliner chair smoking his pipe. Hatchling A, which they began calling Frank, sidled up to his father and listened closely to his every word. The elder tortoise loved teasing his brood. It was his nature, and indeed if too long a period went by with no teasing from Papa, his children would grow depressed, for this was how they knew that they were loved. 'Frank my son, what happened to your tail? Why, it's so short, it looks as though a confused fish mistook it for a worm, and bit it off!' Frank smiled, knowing that his father was very fond of him now. The seasons drifted one into the other, and pretty soon it was time for Frank to go out and start a family of his own. There was a rumor going around that arriving into this world on the same day as Frank was a very serious young female hatchling who lived on the other side of the island. Euridice, as she was called, grew up in an entirely different world than Frank. Her parents were very young, and didn't quite know how to care for their little hatchling. They only knew how to take care of their own needs and desires, and this they did very well. There were always half empty bottles of expensive wine sitting about the house from the previous night's party. Her father, being the traditional nomadic polygamist of his tribe, had invited his new wife to come live with them. Euridice was then given even less attention than before, and what's worse, was delegated to wait on the new wife, who wasn't much older than she was. The father was often absent due to long hours spent at the office. This was a good thing for Euridice and her siblings, as he was a moody man, and given to wild outbursts with little provocation. But the family tradition she least adored was that of the constant criticisms. Nothing was good enough for her father, and his tirades when displeased were tireless and exhausting. He could spend hours yelling about how the chicken she cooked for the family dinner was not big enough to feed the whole family, and then he would continue on until a diagram of the anatomy of a full grown chicken was mapped and drawn and hanging from the kitchen wall for all to examine. She couldn't take him too seriously, but still, she often wished that there was someone out there who might appreciate her. Despite her desires, she had a strong mistrust of most people, and who could blame her. When all you knew was criticism and contempt, where does love fit in? But she knew how to love and care for the poor and helpless creatures of the world. She was always rescuing drowning ants, and abandoned baby birds. So one day as she was searching for water for their camels, she spied a new turtle. She hid behind an acacia tree. It was Frank. The community where her family lived had several families, and it was miles away from other communities. She knew everyone well, but this turtle she had never seen before. She peeked her nose out from behind the tree to get a better look at the stranger. He had disappeared! She was so confused, and then she felt a small tug on her tail. She turned around quickly to scold whoever was annoying her (she really abhorred her tail being pulled), and there was Frank, acting non-challant and casual, though a turtle with such a short tail in her neighborhood was certainly an odd sight. 'I'd appreciate it if you refrain from grabbing my tail like that' she retorted coolly. 'If you are trying to impress me, you're not doing so well'.. Frank was not used to such a cold reception, and wasn't sure how to respond. In his world, a nice, firm tail-grabbing is just a way of starting a conversation. He started to walk backwards very slowly. Euridice noticed that the bright smile he was wearing initially had completely vanished and was replaced by a distant look of sadness. She realized that she really needed to see that smile again. She wasn't sure why, but she felt if she didn't see it again, she would die of thirst. So she abandoned her chores, and came over to Frank, and was more courteous. She told him it wasn't so terrible that he grabbed her tail, it just startled her is all. He really didn't understand her, but decided to stay and chat just the same. He didn't have turtles like Euridice in his village, and he thought her soft little shell needed someone like him to look out for it.

Testing the waters again

Last week I found myself in the office of career services provided for the students at OCCC. The woman who came out of a back room didn't care that I was just a normal person walking off the street, with no affiliation to the college. I imagined being the only one to have walked in that office all week, as classes just began for the semester. Students were too busy to think about looking for a job. The woman who greeted me had a blank expression on her tawny-toned face, and warned me that if I wanted to apply for one of the full time jobs I'd have to bring in my resume and set up an appointment with her. She handed me two thick binders filled with jobs in the area. I've been very casually perusing help wanted sections over the past few months, but the same stock jobs are always there, and the dream job never is: 'Dynamic woman wanted for international travel, must be willing to learn Bantu language and train with elite runners'. I keep checking, but so far, nothing really came close to that. I leaf through pages of clerical positions, dental assistants, the same old stuff.. Then I find it: Teacher wanted for female correctional facility inmates. Why hadn't I considered this before? And why was this appealing to me? I think this is the first time I saw an ad for prison teachers.. I didn't realize prisoners had academic options. And of course the appeal was working with a new culture. I pictured organizing training runs on site, and whipping them all into shape and redemption.. With a few creative writing lessons tossed in for balance. I returned the next week for my appointment with Linda. I brought a cold with me, so I figured Linda wouldn't mind that my resume was not typed. She did. She has a choppy army drill sergeant way about her, and she looked at me deadpan, after dragging my congested self over for the appointment, and told me, 'I can't look at a resume that isn't typed'.. I've stopped taking no for an answer from people of authority a few years ago.. It still feels new and daring to challenge them, but I will never take no again, if I really believe they're being unreasonable. 'Oh, come on.. Can't you just look at it?' 'Well, I can look at it, but we won't fax it for you.. You'll have to type it up'.. 'Of course! That'll be great, thanks'.. I was relieved. It's hard to argue with gumption when your nose is clogged and threatening to leak at any moment. She went into the back to get her reading glasses, and I quickly crossed out the line I had written to fill up space under job duties at the phone company:
. Assisted customers in resolving telecommunications issues in a PSC regulated call center
. Exceeded employee sales goals
. Put up with a lot of bullshit (this one)
Good thing too, because apparently my resume writing style was not jibing with the 2007 standards. Linda went down the page with a pencil marking off everything that needed to be fixed. Her humorless demeanor didn't exactly scare me, but it made it tricky to get her assistance as I tried figuring out how to format this on their PC. I decided to lean on the 'poor sick me' tactic.. Made sure my voice cracked a little whenever I called her over.. Two hours later (for a one page resume), when she realized the position I was applying for, she offered, 'I taught at a correctional facility once'.. I was taken aback a little.. Could I really have something in common with this woman? 'Did you like it?' I asked..'It was alright'.. I prodded more, 'They were probably motivated since there's nothing else to do there'.. 'Not necessarily', she shot down my hopes.. 'Sometimes they showed up and sometimes they didn't'. Wow. Another fantasy job down the drain. Well, I had a feeling teaching inmates for me would be an entirely different experience than it was for Linda. For one thing, I can't imagine her ever thinking anything about the job was blog-worthy. I finished up my resume, tucked it safely in my backpack, then turned to her: 'Thank-you so much for all your help. This has been very productive for me'. And then it happened! Her face lit up! It wasn't exactly a smile, but I saw the subtle change. I wondered how long it had been since someone appreciated Linda. I'm remembering how grim life can be when you are working in the same job day after day, year after year. I unzip my backpack and pull out my resume copy. I exit the office, and then drop the document lightly into the nearest garbage can. I walk out of the building and unto the well-groomed campus. It is a beautiful late Summer day. I find a quiet patch of grass, sit down, and prop myself up on a lone tree. I take out my slim copy of The Little Prince, and blissfully remove all previous notions of trying to be an adult.

Introducing.. 'Bill Senior', my first real comic!

The word 'pedagogy' gives me the whimwhams

It's all starting to make sense. The thought of being a teacher has always been slightly comforting to me, and yet another darker thought always accompanys it. Scenario in Tamar's brain whilst contemplating teaching: Oh yeah, I forgot how much I wanted to be teacher. A truly meaningful job, summers off, you can't be a teacher, you'd never be able to stand in front of a class with 30 people staring at you for 8 hours! Or: I wonder why I never became a teacher? Everyone that I meet who is a teacher seems like a genuinely good person, I can't think of a job that effects so many lives in a positive way, what if I'm strict and rigid and treat my students like they're in boot camp and they all hate me?
I've looked for inspiration as an observer in different classrooms over the years, only to leave with more doubts. The whole experience just reminded me of how incredibly boring public school can really be. But not one to give up without a good fight, I'm back to exploring the field again. I took a Literacy Volunteer training class. Three full days of instruction on how to work with adult students. There's something about learning how to teach that makes me want to poke my eye out. It feels overwhelmingly stressful, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it has to do with teaching a language. I've experienced learning a new language in Israel. It was a language/cultural immersion program called an Ulpan that was taught for 5 hours a day, six days a week. I was a terrible student. My teacher Henya would often throw the eraser at me to get me to stop talking in class. I just couldn't stay focused for so many hours. Those ridiculous drills they give you with dated dialogues were a distraction. I did end up becoming fluent later though, when I moved into an apartment with a bunch of Israeli girls. I don't know if it was the Hebrew that I absorbed from my ulpan experience, or the fact that the language I used in this environment was immediate and relevant.. One thing the Literacy Volunteer material stressed. So back to my LV student. I called him, set up an appointment for our first meeting/lesson, and set out to design a two hour lesson that would hold his interest and not have me throwing teaching material at him. I realised in a short time, one big factor in my previous negative experiences on the road to becoming a teacher: Don't wait until the last minute to prepare. There was a 200 page book I was suppossed to have read in preparation for working with ESL students. I waited until the day before my lesson to do this. Halfway through the book, I decided to just use what I already know, and put together a really interesting lesson plan, as it was too late to absorb everything from the book. I looked at my refrigerator. I have an interesting collage of articles and photos that I've collected over the years. One of my favorites is this news story about a woman in Pennsylvania who was walking to the store, and on the way there, was attacked by some man. He stabbed her, and ended up running away, leaving his knife in her back. Apparently, the back doesn't have very deciphering nerves, and she thought she was merely punched. So she continued walking to the store with the knife in her back. She bought a newspaper and a box of Oreos (one of my favorite cookies), and walked home. Later when the police were reviewing the surveillance tape, they saw five people pass right by her, oblivious to the knife in her back. OK, it's a maccabre story, but still very interesting, I thought. So I brought it to class to help Jose, my student, improve his English skills. Now our meeting spot for the lesson was a friend of mine's office building breakroom. She works with a bunch of engineers, and apparently they really love coffee. Everytime Jose would ask me a question about the stabbing, one of the engineers came in to refill his coffee cup. I remember Jose having a hard time pronouncing the two consonants 'bd' together, and he was saying the word like it had two syllables: 'stab-bed'. I had him repeat it several times quickly to get that one syllabled sound. In walked the same engineer that passed through five minutes earlier. I started wondering if maybe I should have picked a different article? Anyway, I loved my student, he was so motivated to learn, and truly appreciative of my time. Luckily for me, he shares my strange taste in reading materials. Not sure how 'relevant and immediate' crime articles are, but I believe if it's interesting, and the student's understanding is improving, then the lesson succeeded.

'How I Spent My Summer' or 'Intuitive Living'

Well, for the few readers out there who have never found themselves with a little freedom from most major responsibilities.. I'm here to tell you, it's really great. That doesn't even come close to how good it is. I think along with all the other built in milestones in your life as an adult, taking off a few months (or years) to just live intuitively should be at the top of the list. A few weeks ago I attended a creative writing workshop at Omega institute. Lynda Barry was the teacher, and she was everything a teacher, friend, parent should be, but mostly she was extremely entertaining which allowed all 70 of us to relax enough to let the writing process flow. I'm going to share three stories I wrote during the class. They were all part of a simple writing exercise where you have 7 minutes to write on some chosen theme.

1. Walks I've taken..
I am 18 years old and living on a kibbutz. It's a six month program called an ulpan for young people interested in Israeli culture and kibbutz life. My roommate's name is Tikva. (It's really Hope, and she's from Chigago, but she goes by Tikva while she's in Israel). She's invited me to come on a walk of the kibbutz' date groves. Her friend Tzvi offered to take her. He's about 80 years old, and for some reason I question his motives, to myself. I guess it's just that Tikva seems extremely naive, and probably wouldn't know a come on if that's what it was. So I went, and was kind of glad to have something to do. As we were walking, Tsvi had a huge smile on his face as he played tour guide, explaining easily the various flora. We arrived at the orchards, and were standing in front of a huge open truck with crates of dates that'd been picked that day. We sampled them. They were really good, they had a nutty-buttery flavor that I'd never experienced in a date before. We walked further. Tsvi talked on and on about the kibbutz history, Israel's history. I started feeling really sad that I didn't have a boyfriend and couldn't concentrate on a thing he was saying. Before I know it I was crying hysterically. He turned to Tikva and said in response, 'Aw, he mitga'aga'at l'ima shelah'. She misses her mother. That made me cry harder.

2. Bad Food
You are sitting on the couch listening to Anna's call to the vet. Jennifer, her big fat black cat who you love but doesn't love you, is acting strange. She's not eating. She's not using the kitty litter box. 'Yes, Hi, this is Anna Lane? My cat Jennifer has been shitting on the floor'. You can't hold back a burst of laughter. Anna just said 'shitting ' to the vet receptionist. Anna looks nervously at you, and corrects herself. 'I mean she's going to the bathroom on the floor'. She answers some more questions. Then Anna grins, remembering she just said 'shitting' to a stranger. When she gets off the phone, you have a little conversation with her about the cat. How much you love her. Anna's happy you love her, eventhough Jennifer is such a bitch, she says. 'She's not a bitch', you defend her. 'She's just shy'. You love it when you're watching TV for hours and after a very long time of cowering, Jennifer stealthily sneaks a tiny corner of your lap to rest her front paws on. Then you and Anna discuss how you can tell if meat is bad. Anna says if she's not sure if her sliced ham is bad, she'll give Jennifer a little piece. If she refuses it, she knows it's bad.

3.(This story was based on photos of people sitting in impoverished conditions)
I am sitting around the table with Jasmine, her friend Charles, and many children that have appeared from nowhere, and may live in the house. The children are Cuban, and do not understand English. Charles passes around a plate of sliced bread for us. The bread reminds me of this story my mother told me of when I was five, and she baked a loaf of white bread. She took it out of the oven and cut the end off to let it cool. I walked by the bread, and when noone was looking, grabbed my hand into the loaf and pulled out as much of the insides as I could grasp, and shoved it in my mouth. When my mother returned to the loaf, she asked what had happended to her bread? My seven year old brother Josh explained it was probably an air bubble. I asked Jasmine to translate this story for the kids as I told it. She looked very sour at me, and resentfully agreed to the task. She translated into Spanish with her English accented annoyed voice as I excitedly told the story. At the punch line, only one adult laughed. The kids looked off in different directions, not seeming to have heard a word of it.

Unemployed

Someone finally took pity on me and arranged for the call center where I work to be closed down due to 'restructuring'. I've known about this for about a year, and couldn't believe my good fortune when they made the announcement during an unexpected staff meeting. I had to contain my glee, as this was not good news to all the employees.. Strangely, I've discovered that complaining vehemently on a daily basis about every aspect of your job does not mean that you have any desire to find a new one. For me though, this was the get-out-of- jail-free card I'd been waiting for. Papa kicking baby bird out of the nest, uncle sam doling out some free cash for six months.. What more could a creative dreamer who wanted to save the world and win an olympic medal ask for? Now I could get down to the business of REALLY living my life, no longer stifled by the barriers of a soul-sapping customer service job.
Two weeks into freedom, I'm perplexed as to why I'm behaving as though this is one long weekend.. I will start that new project of designing a drama program for AIDS orphans in Africa on Monday; I will draw the outline of my graphic novel chronicling the struggles to deal with anxiety disorders during my family vacation after the Ellen show; OK, maybe these projects are too big.. I could start off with something really basic yet useful in getting started.. I will just trace someone else's comic to get the feel for correct human anatomy, something I'll need for my novel.. That exercise lasts 5 minutes.. Someone calls, and before you know it, Ellen is back on, and g-d forbid I miss her conversation with 88 yr-old Gladys.. So I consult with some friends.. Writer's block is normal.. Don't worry about it.. Enjoy your time off.. Good advise, but it's hard to enjoy my time off when I'm not doing what I've promised myself I'd do as soon as I left this job that I've struggled with for the past ten years.. But I've been feeling some dizzy spells, so for now, I can abandon both Ellen and the quest for changing the world.. Can't do none of that with dizziness in the repertoire.. So off I go to the doctor's office.. Going to the doctor is always a reminder of my issues with commitment.. I go to this health hub for walk-ins.. You never get the same doctor, and I've always liked that.. This way you can't form any attachments to someone who may not be there in the future.. I had very little faith that they would be able to diagnose my dizziness, as I seem to get it once a year, and they don't really know what it is, and then it just goes away.. But a new doctor walked into my room, and she was just perfect! She read my whole history with the hub, and just seemed to be more commited to getting rid of my malady.. She even gave me a script for at-home glucose testing. That really gelled my faith in her.. Wow, she's going to have me jab a lancet in my finger twice a day- she must really like me! After getting my huge bag-o-blood-letting kit, I realized I may need a little one-on-one instruction for this.. The pharmacist was extremely obliging.. She even asked me if I wanted her to demonstrate on herself! I didn't really think that would help me overcome my own fear of doing it, so I declined, but did allow her to witness me making mini-jabs in my fingers.. How do people do this everyday, I can't imagine.. I wasn't very good at it, and the two of us had to put a chokehold on the pricked finger to extract enough blood to give a reading.. After six tries, we succeeded.. It was really a nice bonding experience with Kathy the pharmacist.. After that, I had to go to the post office.. I had some envelopes with photos in them, and wasn't sure if I put enough postage on them.. I had the clerk weigh them.. He was this really nice, stoic Asian man whom I've seen over the years.. After each one was weighed, he was really flustered that I had put too much postage on each of the three letters.. He was kind of laughing and blushing.. 'You are donating to the US Postal Service!' He really felt bad for me.. I guess I shouldn't squander my money now that I'm unemployed.. Wow, I really don't take after my mother in that respect.. Whenever postage costs increase, instead of buying new stamps, she puts a full stamp and then tears another stamp in half and puts that on there too.. I told her they will return her mail, but she swears they never have..
So today, having a feeling of accomplishment and social connectedness with the community, I feel was a good day. Maybe tomorrow I'll save the world.

Boston

Anyone who's ever run a marathon has inevitably considered the possibility of qualifying for the prestigious Boston Marathon. It's often the first question a fellow running pal will ask his first time marathon finisher friend: 'Did you qualify for Boston?' At 111 years old, it is the oldest marathon in the world, and holds a great deal of pride and memories for 1,000's of runners. Personally, I was never drawn to doing Boston, I guess because I'm loyal to my precious New York.. Why stray if you are satisfied? But at work this morning, I couldn't help getting swept up in the excitement that this morning's little race brought to my workstation. By the time I clicked onto the The Boston Marathon website, the men's race was already into it's third mile. There was an American in third place! I was tempted to email my friend Dick who knows everything about running trivia, but I imagined him telling me that a marathon is a very long race, and this guy has a lot of real estate to cover, and I shouldn't place any bets until they're further along into the game.. Then I checked out the women's race.. Jelena Prokopcuka, who won New York in 2005 and 2006, was again going out hard from the gun.. (Or cannon?) When I had more time to catch the details of the race, I gleaned this edible little tidbit from the Boston Marathon website:

The pack was now down to four, with Prokopcuka and Grigoryeva [the eventual winner] running side-by-side, Jeptoo and Perez right behind. By 25K, the women had whittled the finishing pace down to 2:32:44, but whenever the wind gusted everyone lined up single file behind the taller Prokopcuka. The Latvian, who lost precious training time to a bout of the flu a month ago, turned around several times, clearly annoyed at the role she was given. [Indeed! This isn't the Tour de France, ladies!]
And then later they had to say of the Russian winner:

As she made the final turn onto Boylston Street, Grigoryeva took a glance over her shoulder to check her lead. She liked what she saw. She looked again, just to make sure. She was clear, running the last mile in 5 minutes flat and grabbing a Russian flag from the crowd just before breaking the tape.

I thought that was cute.. And good timing with the flag. Maybe I have a little soft spot in my heart for Russian runners.. Afterall, my last coach did give me the nickname 'Russian Rocket'.. Hmm, I haven't been living up to that one for a while..
But back to notes on Boston.. I was looking up random results, just because I love checking out the competition.. A lot of women in my age group under 3 hours! Then I thought, let me check and see if my friend Deanna ran.. Deanna is such an incredibly talented runner, if she wasn't such a likeable person, my jealousy for her natural running ability would take precedence over a friendship. She ran the NYC marathon one year, with no serious training in 3:17.. Her speedwork consisted of running for the bus in the mornings for her 2 hour commute to work. She was always late. Even to races. One race I saw her from the starting line, and I could tell she was too late to join in, though that had been her intention. Instead she decided to join in at mile two to help pace me. I was holding about a 6:45 pace, too fast for me to be talking, but she was chatting away, giving calm updates as to where all my competition was at that stage in the race, and what I would need to do if I wanted to catch them.. All this and not even slightly laboring with her breathing.. Good thing she's so likeable.. So after her 3:17 marathon with no training, she developed all kinds of undiagnosable runner's maladies that my guess were simply a matter of her body asking for a break.. And for her to never run another marathon again without training. But she likes her marathons, and she seems to always do the Boston one.. So I looked her up, and sure enough, not only had she run it with the 50 mph winds and rain that caused the elite runners to slow down by a full 7 minutes off the course record, she ran close to the times she normally runs for a marathon.. So Deanna, this post is for you.. Thanks for inspiring .. And congratulations to anyone else who was brave enough to toe the line today for this old run. And to Jason Lehmkuhle, who started off in the top 3, ran his first 5k in 16:20, and his last in over 29 minutes.. That's one painful way to run a marathon, brother..

"People who celebrate Valentine's Day should be pelted with shoes"

Original post written 2/15/07

This was one of the chants heard by the Hindu extremist group Shiv Sena in New Delhi, India yesterday. It's such a nice contrast of East meets West, Whitman's heart-shaped chocolates rewarded with a good swift shoe attack. I greeted the holiday with my own brand of shoe-pelting, as the heavens opened up and gave us our first big snowstorm this year. I finally had some fiber to sink my new snowshoe crampons into. After careful study of how to harness my foot into the bindings, out I went. I had planned on just walking the first half mile or so to adapt to the shoes, but after a few steps, was curious to see if running in snowshoes was as difficult as I'd heard it was. I took short choppy steps, minding to keep a wider than normal step so as not to kick my ankle.This was actually fun! I felt like a whole different athlete, a younger, less jaded version of myself. There was no clock to compete against since this was the very first time in my life that I was running in snowshoes. Then I kicked my ankle. Ow. That hurt. My legs must be getting tired. I slowed down a little. I saw a four-legged dark brown animal about 100 meters away. It looked at me a lot, and then twisted it's head behind it, as if waiting for back up. Back up arrived, and bambi trotted off into the woods, followed by five of his cohorts. I was happy to see that they didn't look graceful in the snow either. I kicked my ankle again. 'OWW!' I walked for a little bit now, but then got bored with that, and determined to pay more attention and stop kicking myself. I started thinking about this new training plan that I might start. It was designed by an Olympic running coach to lower your mile time. I was concentrating on the logistics of it, and imagining how my legs would feel running at those speeds, I was so focused on those thoughts that I forgot to focus on running wide, and kicked my ankle again hard. 'OH, GOOD NIGHT!',*someone screamed. I looked around, a little alarmed at the sudden anger, then in a hoarse voice started laughing hysterically. I laughed harder thinking about some innocent person taking a Winter stroll witnessing my mishap. I started developing this rhythm with my feet where the foot bed bounced off my heel with each step and it felt like I was alternately dribbling mini basketballs with my heels.. It made me want to run more, but I decided to stop at three miles. Over a 12-minute per mile pace, not bad for a beginner. This was a refreshing twist to my normal running repertoire. I think I'll leave the shoe-pelting to the Shiv Sena, I rather like my snowshoes.

* original quote not suitable for all audiences.. and I'm trying to change some unsavory habits, too..

Reflections of Sensitivity

During my run today, something I ate was repeating on me (that's how my Grandma Blanche used to phrase it.. 'I don't care for green peppers, they repeat on me'.. I had no idea what she was talking about at the time..) So I was wondering how I was tasting chocolate covered cherries, as I hadn't eaten any such thing that morning.. I had a delicious fresh mango and a piece of toast with marmite.. Food scientists take note.. I've discoverd the long kept secret to re-creating chocolate covered cherries! Just mix a little mango and marmite.. I then started thinking about beng vulnerable running out on the roads alone.. Not a scary kind of dangerous vulnerability, but more of an open target to bullies kind of thing.. The wind was strong, and it was more comfortable to gaze at the ground.. I was imagining the drivers passing me thinking I looked like a weirdo, and that I wasn't confident because I was looking down. I guess that's normal, as you really are vulnerable as a single runner against 2,000 lb moving vehicles. But my feelings I'm sure are not shared by every runner who takes a solo run. My anxiety (though slight, as I've done 1,000's of solo runs over the years with little negative consequence) stems from my unique insecurities that I developed as a child. Showing vulnerability was ridiculed in my upbringing. As though my family were raising a slew of soldiers in preparation for a great war. Talking with others about their sensitivities is always surprising, because our issues are so different.. It's comforting to hear that I have total confidence in the areas that they may struggle with, and vice versa. Comforting because if our issues are simply products of poor upbringing, and not concrete realities of today, we should be able to easily rid ourselves of them. That's the really amazing part. I can spill some coffee on the floor, be stressed because I now have a dirty floor, and then easily solve the problem by cleaning it up in 2 seconds. These childhood issues seem to come back no matter how many times you clean them up. One day my life is great and comfortable and I'm loved and beautiful. The next day, I'm hideous and nobody likes me and I'm stuck belching chocolate covered cherries.. But I'm really happy to find out that this is kind of how it is for all of us. I think. I really don't believe we are meant to be comfortable all the time anyway, when there is so much suffering all around us. A certain balance of both states of mind is important to be able to give compassion for others when they are struggling. I don't mean to intentionally seek out hardships. That's not even necessary, as they will naturally find you on your course of existence. I just mean to maybe recognize that struggle is an important part of the journey.

Impressing Lis

There's something so comforting and reassuring about having a routine. On most Winter evenings after work, I fly into the office bathroom to change into my running outfit, avoid the cleaning guy on my way out as he really complains a lot more than I have time to listen to.. I have a very narrow window of time between signing off from my workstation and meeting Lis or Jess by the lake for our run, so there's little room for deviation.. See, if we humans didn't instill a little rigidity into our journeys, we'd never arrive at our destinations. I was particularly enthused at the prospect of this evening's run, as I had mentioned to Lis earlier that it was suppossed to be very cold and windy this night, and I may have to don my famous pantyhose face-mask.. She said she may be too scared to run with me, but she'd try to be brave.. I told her not to be jealous as her more traditional fleece face mask trapped moisture and froze on her.. I arrived in the dark parking area where we meet, Lis was sitting in her car waiting.. She looked over and shook her head in fright. The wind and cold was a little alarming, and we didn't do a lot of talking in that hour.. I was wanting to brag more than I did about how comfortable my face was feeling, but you know, I didn't want to risk it.. It's not easy to find someone willing to brave single digit temps on a Friday night..

What do you think about fat people?

Ten minutes into our run today, I threw this question at my friend Sarah. I've never asked anyone this question before, and very rarely even use the two words 'fat' and 'people' in the same sentence. I always thought I was protecting the innocent, sparing this vulnerable category of people. I was prepared for Sarah to chide me for calling them fat, or comment on what a strange question that was. Sarah's very quick on the uptake, so after a beat, she answered like she had been waiting for someone to ask her this question for years. 'Fat people really bother me'. I laughed, because it was such an unexpected response. 'Why?' I encouraged more. 'Well first they're always complaining that they can't lose weight as they're eating a huge McDonalds meal'. I felt she was being harsh, and wanted to rescue my fat people. 'You know what's funny' I said, 'I think the majority of Americans are prejudiced against fat people, and I think it's mostly because we're scared of becoming them'. Sarah agreed completely, then we both shared stories of how we had gained lots of weight in highschool and college, and later lost it, so we could really appreciate how important maintaining our current healthy weights was. We also both agreed that it would be incredibly easy to get right back in that fat boat.
This whole topic came up because of another friend had just met this great new guy.. They were cyber-dating, she saw his photo and was attracted to him, and they had good email communications. Then he suddenly sent her a recent photo where he had obviously gained a lot of weight. That photo ended their relationship. She wasn't attracted to overweight men. And it got everyone thinking in our group: How do we feel about weight issues? Very strongly, apparently. My little sister Anna is the kindest person, would never say anything mean to anyone. She invented her own language when she was 6 years old. It's called da da da da da's. She has about 20 or 30 of them. At least five of them were created for Zhenya, our father, at various stages of emotional upset. She had one for uncle Steve getting out of the cab to visit us on Shabbos. She had one for me when I had my hair pulled back too tight in a bun. And she has one for fat people. That's just the way it is.
Every human deserves respect and sensitivity to her differences, but as humans, we can't help having a little fun. It's all fun and games until you've gained 10 pounds by eating your whole box of dried peaches.

A few notes the night before the NY Marathon

Wow.. I can't believe how completely exhausted I have become these last 12 hours.. So much thought and rehearsal and preparation, mentally more than physically, just to get to today, the day before a really big event for so many people. In my exhausted state, it just dawned on me that many many people called me today to wish me well for tomorrow.. I guess they care? And all along I thought I was this anti-social, slightly annoying runner-type that avoids others and vice versa.. I'm truly touched.. Not that I didn't try to drum up some interest in unknown citizens, such as the teenage check out guy at Shop-Rite.. I felt he needed to know that I was running a marathon tomorrow, so as he scanned my fish, gatorade and broccoli rabe, I casually said, 'I'm running the NY Marathon tomorrow, I hope this is a good meal'.. He didn't miss a beat, turned around to the check-out kid behind him and enlightened him too.. 'We have a marathon runner here!' I was surprised, as the first kid looked totally uninterested in the population over 20 years old.. Let the prejudices cease!
OK, being as I have to get up at 3:30, I should cut this short.. But first a few predictions: Lance Armstrong will finish in 3:03:18; Susan Kepchemoi should win, she's been runner up 3 times already; Hendrik Ramaala will win too.. And me? Very bad idea to print my predictions before the fact; But I will be brave.. Hmmm.. This is really tough.. Any shorter distance it's scary how accurate my predictions are, but the marathon is such a different beast.. Tha'ts why I've been so anxious.. OK.. 3:24:12.. But my goal is 3:17:58.. And if I don't come near either of those, I'd like to take my own advise that I've given friends about to run a marathon: Don't beat yourself up, that's what the distance is for..

Marcia Learned Some Valuable Lessons Today..

(As in Brady..)
Here goes kids:
1. If you're driving in your car and suddenly feel overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness and depression, try changing the radio station; I don't know what my Vassar college dj was playing, but the singer made Morrissey sound like Goldie Hawn on crack

2. You'll never grow up or be happy until you feel selflessly protective of someone else (this came to me in this weird dream where I overcame a fear of heights by being lifted in this ride 50 feet in the air with a toddler, and my total focus was on making sure the kid was safe)

3. If you hate your job but are having a tough time quiting, take on a second job that you really hate, then quit it, and you'll really appreciate having only one job that you hate! (Is this one obvious?)

4. Don't think that if you passed a certain person in a 10k race at mile 5-1/2, you're going to do it each time! Even if you can run the last 400 meters in 1:16..

5. Crispin apples are: a.delicious; b.another reason to be proud of living in New York

6. No matter how bad things get, never EVER watch Laguna Beach, and if you somehow are forced to against your will, make sure you don't watch a marathon of Laguna Beach episodes.. You will definitely suffer irreparable brain cell loss as well as an odd desire to wear strawberry lipgloss

7. It's OK to watch Flavor of Love, especially to offset the effects of the waspy above mentioned program, but please refrain from watching numerous repeats of the same episode.. I know New York's sassy confrontations are particularly irresistible, but who are you kidding.. You just couldn't pull it off.. Could you?

Queen Grete's Great Gallop

To be transported in total darkness on a Shortline bus from a sleepy commuter town into the pulsing heart of NYC at 6 am.. Is a great way to wake up on a Sunday morning. I was really excited and thankful to be able to compete in today's 1/2 marathon. I had a year plagued with stop and go training due to a recurring muscle injury, and to wake up race morning feeling healthy and ready to test my stuff was really a great feeling. I arrived in Central park with that same thought I always have before a Central Park race.. What the hell is a transverse and will I know if I'm on one?? The park is a city in itself, taking up 6 miles of city space, closed to most vehicular traffic on the weekends.. And just my favourite part of the city.. So the only person I remember talking to before the race was Ginette Bedard, a 73 year old runner who beats most people in races a quarter her age.. She was exiting a port-o-potty (a runner's favourite pre-race hang-out.. 1. because it's warmer and 2. because that way you don't have to wait on a long line for one!) so I did what any normal person would do, went right over to introduce myself to her and see what her gameplan was for today's race.. She said something about wanting the whole thing to be over already, and I really couldn't blame her.. It was starting to rain pretty hard, and the race hadn't even started.. I made my way to the starting area (with over 4,000 runners today, getting there early made a lot of sense).. And then the sky just opened up.. I stood under a tree watching the poor suckers standing on the starting line getting totally drenched.. Then I sprinted to join them before I missed the start myself.. I cramped in near the front.. There was a small group from team Los Compadres that were hovering under a piece of plastic for cover, and they invited me to join them.. So I did.. It was so cute, I was kind of hoping we could all run this race huddled as this little unit, and each share the responsibility of finishing the race with a good time.. Ah, that would never work.. Racing is such an independent sport, each runner has to constantly monitor his own stress level to make sure he's pushing just enough.. For me for that day and that point in my training, I planned ahead of time that pace would be a 7:15 minute per mile .. Off we went.. I felt good and ready for this race.. I was ticking off the first three miles all close to my goal pace.. Then I saw Wanda, another master's woman from my team.. She was ahead of me.. I figured she was starting too fast, because I always beat her in races.. I saw a couple of guys w black t-shirts on with big 'H's' on the back, NY Harriers.. I had talked to one at the start of the race, he says he hasn't raced since Brooklyn back in March.. You could have fooled me I thought.. Every down hill I passed them and every up hill he passed me.. We talked a little.. I was surprised how comfortable I felt, nothing like last year at this race.. More than 1/2 way into the race Wanda passd me again! I was really surprised, and considered chasing her, but I felt now I was really running right at the threshhold point of my stress level.. I checked my watch, and knew I could maintain this pace to keep my goal.. I got to the 12th mile and realized that I had to really pick up the pace if I wanted to break 1:35.. I ran very strong and did my fastest mile with a 6:58.. Still didn't break 1:35.. Ran 1:35:03.. Had the chip time been displayed at the end and not the gun time, I would've seen that a bigger effort was needed, and I would have broken 1:35.. No matter.. I was thrilled that I did end up averaging 7:15 per mile! There's nothing more satisfying than training hard for months and months, having patience through the injury healing process, and then achieving your goals.. I really like that race, it's so well organized, and it's in honour of Grete Waitz, who won the NYC marathon a record 9 times.. She was at the post-race ceremony, looking fit enough to win the race again, and telling us not to blame Norway for our terrible weather today.. Typical Libra, wanting to be in everyone's good graces.. Of course, if a city names a race and a festival after you, I guess you can assume they approve of you.. I felt content enough to not even think about any desire to have a race named after me..

It's not me, it's you

I met my friend 'Jon' (not Jon from Colorado, though that would have been nice..) at a local cafe last Saturday. We had lots to catch up on. I was reading this book by a Mennonite woman which I was quite enjoying. I read Jon one of the lines to demonstrate that he would like this book too. This father character had just been left by his wife.. His uncle came to visit him and asked how he was doing: 'Oh, unexceptional. Living quietly with my disappointments'.
Jon and I were really taken with that line. We immediately thought of how useful a retort that would be at work. We both work in office buildings inhabited by many people that we have to greet daily, and we are both rather anti-social people. Well, that's not exactly right. We are actually very sociable, love meeting new people.. But the environment of forced sociability is rather suffocating to us.. Yeah, that's it exactly.. And in office buildings when co-workers pass you in the hall as you're silently enduring your own private hell, it's very jarring to be asked 'How are you?' and knowing there's only one correct answer.. But now Miriam Toews has given us an alternative! We can respond, 'Living quietly with my disappointments'.. Jon got that happy twinkle in his eye, like he was really eager to try out this new line.. Then it hit me full force, and I couldn't stop laughing: Jon could NEVER use this line, because he NEVER lives quietly with his disappointments! He wasn't quiet after a race he ran a few years ago when he angrily berated his performance in front of anyone who would listen.. Or who was stupid enough to claim pride in their own performance.. ''Oh, you did good in the race? That's great.. I SUCKED! Yeah, my father got all the good genes, he was fast, but I've been SCREWED!' I must admit, my embarrassment at people looking at us took precedence over feeling bad for him.. No, he wasn't quiet then.. But I'll always stand by Jon. I know where he's coming from. That's why I didn't yell at him too much when he took the entire pan of Debbie's leftover salmon home with him.
Male friends. Give me strength.

Stuck

I've been keeping a morning journal, a writing exercise designed to unleash creative flow. You may have heard of it, it's called the Morning Pages, part of a program created by Julia Cameron from her popular 'The Artist's Way' manual. It does work, as she said. Artists with artist's block all become 'unstuck', and go on to become successful with their art. I've experienced several small successes with seeing through certain artistic projects.. Like designing a big race t-shirt, putting together a mini-comic strip, finally getting some acting roles.. But all of these came with considerably more effort and struggle than I thought necessary.. Are we all in our own ways? Should this all be much easier to come by and fun, really? But our minds are adding on completely erroneous pressures that weigh the whole project down and make it seem as torturous as our dull routines we were trying to avoid in the first place? Well, here's a close up look at the process.. Cameron warns not to share the MP writings with anyone, as it's not meant to be read or critiqued, simply written to empty out the rubbish that's dancing about in your head to allow for the real good stuff to come out.. Composting, as some call it.. But the hell with that, I'm going to share with you the MP from 9/3/06 at 9:00 am (yes, I time EVERYTHING!) I'm sharing this not because it's great writing, it's not.. But because I need help.. I am stuck and I can't get out..

Morning Pages 9/3/06:
Still raining, a slight drizzle. I have Noam Chomsky's name in my head- I went to Border's before seeing a movie last night and was looking for books on The Bushmen, found none, so took out a book on Linguistics, since I'm mostly interested in the Khosian 'clicking' languages. Can I turn that into a career? I can contact a university head of a Linguistics department and maybe turn it into an MA- or just independently travel to South Africa- Botswana and Namibia and teach English and learn their language. How can this be of value to the world? Does modern America, the Jessica Simpson generation really have a need (yes!) to learn a Khosian language? Our link to history may be extinct if not documented. I could bring it to modern life. And then go to Kenya and run with the elites? I'd have to learn Swahili too. So many languages, so much time. Is this all a big plan for me to avoid doing something realistic with my life? Yes, I suppose it is. I really have no interest, never did, in working and living a conventional life. I need to stop running away from my creative side and embrace it. I've been doing this MP exercise for a long time now, and while I've had creative projects here and there, really not enough to sustain me-I'm still so wrapped up in my job but not investing the time I should be in art or writing. Oh yeah, my blog is good. That's writing. But it's so sporadic. I think the lonliness and isolation of these projects is preventing me from pursuing them, If I had the balance of friends, other artists, say, it would be more- helpful? I guess I thought, with my daily epiphanies on the next big project, that something would just come to me and I'd be off doing it. I think I can't get off the ground. I'm stuck. In so many aspects of my life. No friends, or few; No loves (more serious); a job that's crushing my spirit; The one constant positive thing is my running. It's really tough, especially these mile repeats. They're $!@&%#!$ endless. But I feel really strong and powerful of mind and body after. How many people, even amoungst competitive runners, are going to make themselves do seven times a mile at around their 5k pace with one minute rest in between? Huh?? And though I do them alone, the results will prove themselves in public, in a race. So this dedication, tolerance of pain and patience for a good successful outcome with progressive results is THE SAME PROCESS that I need to apply to- whatever the next phase I pursue. My project ideas are all great, but I need something I can do for a few years, support myself doing it. Teaching overseas sounds good- but I want that creative lement. Living in the city sounds great. All the African, theatre, comic, running connections in the world are right there in the city. Time to do it. Should I buy a condo? I should, And I'll need a job? Unfortunately. Teaching? I don't know. Maybe, Back to square one? Yep. This is what happens but I feel I shook something loose, not sure what. I need a career advisor- a psychic, someone big. If I ask Zhenya he'll say, 'You got me, kid' Dakota will say pursue acting! That'd be very cool. Sigh. Square one and a half?

I'm Really Beginning to Hate Bob Farkas**

I have no right to be blogging right now, was sitting at my workstation from just before 8 am til 6:30 pm exactly.. Then I went straight to rehearsal to do a run through of the one play where I play a catatonic woman.. Wasn't much of a stretch from the employee I pretended to be today, as I used the back of my business cards as cue cards to help me memorize my lines.. This in between taking calls at the call center where I work.. Ever the focused Tamar, one of my first customers was Paul Ellis.. I do my schmucky greeting, he interrupts me in the middle of it (the only thing worse than saying a schmucky greeting is to have someone interrupt your cadence by cutting you off during it.. Really insulting, in the books of customer service reps, ranks right up there with being cursed at).. 'Tamar', he says, in his big, loud, Brooklyn-accented, business man can't-be-bothered-with-greetings way.. 'I opened my phone bill, and see you're offering $39.99 a month for long distance, and here I'm paying WAAAAAY too much!' As I finish jotting down my lines from page 15 of my script, I matter-of-factly remind Paul that, as I had told him before, unless he was willing to make a commitment, he would not be eligible for that promotion.. I set up phone service for this guy about 3 weeks ago, and since then, every thought that crosses his mind that is telephone related, he calls me and demands I return his call right away, as it's very important.. I'll never forget this guy.. He actually first called for a rep named Melissa, but then discoverd that Melissa went on to greener pastures (collecting payments in our front office.. A little greener, I guess..) So he latched onto my soul, and from then on I was his personal slave.. At the end of our first 45 mminute call (which should have only taken 7 minutes, but Paul needed special attention), he said.. 'So I guess you're my new contact?' 'Yeah', I said, kind of touched that Paul wanted to keep me as his contact.. He ended the call with, 'Don't go getting promoted like Melissa'.. The touching moment was never to return, as he called me so many times, I started saving his messages for future restraining order evidence..
So back to this call on this morning.. As I pull up Paul's account this morning, and realize I've been very flippant with him, reminding him of his commitment fears, and that he is a DSL subscriber, 'as I recall', I said so callously to him, therefore he would not be eligible to take advantage of this promo, for which he tried to bite my head off about not being informed of .. The lightbulb went on. Paul Ellis was not the same customer that I had burned in my memory as public enemy #1.. No, that honor was reserved for a Bob Farkas, who though had a similar accent and manner as Paul, was in fact not.. Paul was in fact.. The man that has been my director for the past month! Ha hahaha! Foiled again! As soon as I realized this faux pas, I acknowleded it.. 'Oh, Paul, the director Paul?' Yeah', he said, relieved that a nicer Tamar was somewhere underneath that stuffy demeaner.. 'You didn't know it was me?' I'm always so impressed when I do that.. And more impressed that no one has been insulted yet.. This even happended with my own boyfriend that I was living with! He called me at work to ask me a question, and I was so focused on my position as a service rep, that my brain never recognized that this was not only someone that I knew, but someone that I lived with! (I never understood why he didn't get mad or think it was even funny that I didn't reconize him? Clearly a doomed relationship..a good chess player, though..) OK, so that was my morning excitement.. It happend around 8:40 am, then nothing exciting happend that day at all.. A torturous 10 hours of taking phone calls.. OK, wait.. Some cute Southern accents thrown into the mix, but really, nothing memorable or sticky note-worthy.. Then on to rehearsal.. My eyes were really burning, had I known that NO ONE had their lines memorized, I wouldn't have stressed so hard about getting my lines down.. The female director of our group gathered us after the run through to quickly go over notes.. I guess I was really tired, and I started swinging my legs under the stage, you know, kind of trying to keep myself awake.. And this woman who is in the plays.. Touched my knees and told me to stop it! Can you believe it? I didn't want to be rude to the director by making a scene, but I felt some response was necessary.. What was this woman, my MOTHER?? I heard her bossing one of the actors during rehearsal, too.. When he messed up his line, he said 'Oh, SHIT!!', And she said, 'Stay in character', and he said 'What?' and she repeated it.. I can just imagine what he was thinking.. Actors HATE to be told what to do, but only tenfold* when it's coming from someone other than the director.. OK kids, I'm really beat.. Til next time..

*yes, I realize this isn't a word.. you word-Nazi!
** The subject title of an email I sent to Melissa after Bob's 3rd callback to me in the same day

A Bronx Tale

I'm starting to get jaded- this getting up at 4:30 am to run a 1/2 marathon in the city doesn't feel as bold and exciting as it used to. Maybe I don't have the same spark for it as before because I'm not as fast as I was last year. I'm like a speed junkie (running speed, that is!) who's suffering from withdrawal symptoms, and willing to take on any race to get my fix. So off to the Bronx I went. I had my main goal, which was to beat my 1/2 marathon time from England last month, 1:38:58. That should have been an easy goal since it was a pretty hilly race. Then I had about 5 more goals in descending order of difficulty.. A runner's crutch, which I've learned from Bob Glover, my all-time running mentor and Coach of GNY, the team I proudly (but infrequently) compete for. The idea is to not put all your eggs in one basket. The last goal on your list would have to be something absolutely obtainable, even in the unlikely event that a car ran over your legs during the race and you had to roll yourself over the finish line.. Like finishing the race in 4 hours, say.. So my second goal was to not let the Coach beat me.. See, he has his own weird little accounting system, and if you've ever beaten him in a race, he puts an asterisk next to your name, and it doesn't come off til he beats you in a race.. He has a lot of rules.. Like no waving to Coach Bob during a race.. He yelled at us once after a Central Park race, went on for a full page in an email rant to all the club members about how waving to Coach Bob during a race is like giving the finger to the Pope.. It changed a lot of people's racing experiences. I loved the new somberness.. But getting back to my race.. All 3,000+ of us were mushed into the starting area, listening to the final instructions from Mary Wittenberg, the very young CEO of the New York Road Runner's club. She was trying to get everyone psyched for the NY marathon in November, and people were anxious to get started with THIS race, as the sun was already starting to bring out the sweat in us. Then just before the race starts, she announces that she's going to 'hop in', so she doesn't miss the start.. How dare she be so relaxed and casual about running in a race! I have all kinds of pre-race rituals that involve mostly working myself into a frenzy of anxiety.. So this seemed quite unfair.. The race started, and I quickly found a reasonable pace that I thought I could hold for the whole way. Reasonable to me means it's too hard to talk, but I won't pass out after 13 miles. On that day, that meant a 7:35 pace. So you can imagine my horror when I heard the idle chatter of two women coming up behind me! Good grief, man, this isn't a Sunday jog in the park.. We have people working really hard here! If this pace is so easy for you, you should be hustling your little butts a little quicker! It didn't help matters that the one that was doing most of the talking sounded exactly like that cheerleader in the Sprint Mobile commercials.. I picked up the pace a little, but could still hear diarrhea mouth.. Just then a spry woman ran right up beside me. It was the CEO! She said 'Good job' to me, and I labored to get out a 'You too' in .. At least she had the decency to be breathing very heavily.. Somehow Mary and I ran together for a whole mile.. It was exciting, but stressful, because I knew she was in my age group, and at our advanced age, even with a 'slow' 7:35 pace, there was a chance for me to be in the top 3 and get a medal.. All of a sudden chatty Cathy spies Mary.. 'Hi Mary! I hear people were complaining about the cost of that Manhattan 1/2?' Not as much as you'd hear ME complaining if I had the energy to, I thought.. Mary somehow kept a little two word reply conversation going with iron lungs.. I felt really bad for her.. That's when all my fantasies about being the CEO of this running club took flight. And then all my energy drained somewhere, and all three of my rivals whizzed ahead of me, and left me with 5 miles to contend with alone.. Me and 2,500 other tired, soaked runners.. A water stop was approaching, and I saw this young female volunteer handing cups of water to passing runners.. It must have been her first time, because clearly she wasn't aware of the potential dangers of this job.. Exhausted runners, stubbornly refusing to stop and take the cup like sensible people.. Ploughing on and grabbing the cup on the run while dodging other runners.. This naive girl was smiling and talking to some runners, and not looking where she was going.. She happened to have some very Dolly Partonesque assets too, which you really couldn't miss.. And all I could think of as I grabbed my water was, 'If we collide, she will definitely be the one in trouble'.. I missed her by about an inch, and was totally exhausted in the effort of avoiding those twins.. At some point I saw my Coach.. Coaching his team from the sidelines.. I was so disappointed! How could he drop out? He's made of steel, has run marathons two weeks after major surgery.. Was supposed to 'kick my asterisk'.. This race just wasn't one for the records for either of us.. The finish line finally arrives, I sprint in with my usual valiant effort to save face (only so much making up you can do in a tenth of a mile), and finished in a disappointing 1:39:26.. I knew it was a tough day though with the heat, since not only did my coach drop out, but so did his wife.. And she is also quite a warrior.. So I held a little hope that maybe I still got an award.. I wandered over to the results list.. Found my name.. Fourth in my age.. Sigh.. I had to see who took third.. Third female in my age went to: Mary Wittenberg. She earned it, good for her. Anyone but motor-mouth. I limped into the sunset. There'll always be another race around the 'hood..

In the Company of Strangers

She was driving down the busy road, no expectations of this date that was to be in twenty minutes. How long had it been since she last had a date? A long time, maybe a year or two. Now the cynic entered her mind. He will have nothing to say. She won't be attracted to him. What did any of it matter? He was returning to his country the next day, and who knew when or if she'd see him again? May as well just relax and have a nice evening. Besides, she was the older one here, so what was she nervous about? Nervous! The thought made her mad. Why should I be nervous? I don't have to prove anything, he's the one that asked me out! Okay, now she was starting to remember why it had been so long since she'd been on a date. It was torture, the uncomfortable feeling of spending an evening with a stranger. She reminded herself that she had met him the night before, and he was very sweet. A real gentleman, old-school chivalry, must've been the South American thing. And he had a really cute smile, reassuring, reminding her that everything was going to be okay. She was still nervous. She calmed herself thinking about how she would be like a big sister to him. Oh dear, that's not very romantic, she thought. Back to worrying. She pulled into the parking lot of Hamburger Harry's, it wasn't too full for a Friday night. Must be the rain. She left her name at the front to be called when a table opened up, and planted herself at the bar. She ordered a drink, but had no interest in drinking it. She looked up and saw an old friend who was a singer and was booked for that night to perform. She went up to her. The friend seemd angry about this establishment. She relayed a story about how she agreed to do this gig, but the last time she came here with her friends, the owner made them all pay for their drinks, so this time she refused to give them any business. She would play for them, but they all had their drinks before they arrived. Seemed strange to her, like you're going through with half of a vendetta, but it worked for the friend. Just then the restaurant hostess called her name on the loudspeaker. As she walked to greet her, her date had just walked in the front door.. Great timing. They greeted each other warmly and sat down. Somehow the topic of Americans and neurosis came up. The girl asked, 'Do you know about the great amount of mental illness that plagues this country? The majority of Americans have seen or are currently seeing a psychiatrist'.. The boy seemed very knowledgable in this, and replied, 'Yes, I know about all the cases where criminals get released by pleading insanity'.. She was impressed with his grasp of English as well as his following current affairs.. However, he missed her point. Ah, that may be more a gender difference than a cultural one. More material for the 'I hate dating' files. They discussed some stuff on training techniques, as they were both avid athletes. This was a good topic for them, neutral, no room for misinterpretion, and something tangible that they had in common. A little lull in the conversation, and the girl thought about how this boy was going to return to his relatives that evening. He didn't have a car, and she had a fear of driving up mountains in the dark, and that's exactly what she'd have to do to get him home. 'How are you going to get home?' she asked casually, though it's a tough question to sound casual about, expecially when you're only 30 minutes into the date. No matter, she thought it a good thing to know the answer to, especially since his uncle was still in the vicinity, and could therefore be of assistance here. 'That's what my uncle asked me', he said matter of factly. She laughed nervously. 'Are you worried about it?' He asked her. 'Well, no', she hedged, 'I just like to plan things'.. They both just sat there, him staring at her with a guilty look on his face, her looking down at her plate trying not to look worried. 'Are you worried? ' He asked her again, this time she conceded, 'Well, maybe a little'. 'Don't worry', he said confidently. 'But how will you get home?' she asked again. 'I'm not worried about it', he said defiantly. The girl thought to herself, 'Well then why should I?', but there were plenty of reasons for her to be alarmed by his lack of an end to this date. If he didn't have a ride home, and she wasn't going to drive him home, this date would never end! And she wasn't too fond of dating. It was then that she decided it might be a great idea to drink her entire martini, and that is what she did. She also decided that she truly was not going to worry about this strange turn of events in this date, and just have the best time that she could. They left the restaurant and drove to a spot where there would soon be a big fireworks display. She and her date walked around looking for a good spot for viewing. A corny band played songs from the '50's, and the fireworks begun. They were louder than she's ever remembered. She had to plug her ears with her fingers. A crazed-looking large man walked right over to her and started talking to her. 'Hey lady, wouldn't it be great if they didn't make so much noise? Then they wouldn't be firecrackers!' This guy seemed a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but the girl would never intentionally hurt anyone's feelings. She engaged in conversation with him. He talked about how he retired from playing music when he lost some of his hearing. He was standing too close to her, closer than the two foot comfort zone Americans require. He walked away and she was glad. She was enjoying standing with her date, watching fireworks, having a nice quiet moment where no worrying was happening. She had mentioned how she loved purple ones, and he kept pointing out all the purple ones to her as they went off. They didn't look purple to her, but she appreciated the gesture. Picnic man came back and again stood a few inches from her face. She didn't know what to do or say, but had the distinct feeling she wanted him gone. But she told herself this poor guy probably has no one in the world, and just needs a friend. So she asked him, 'Were you playing with the band?' to which he raised his voice, 'No, lady, didn't you hear me before?! I retired from music!' He looked really scary like he was going to hit her, and she felt embarassed that this stranger was yelling at her. It was so loud from the fireworks that no one else seemed to notice what was happening. She didn't like being yelled at, and yelled right back at him, 'No, I didn't hear you! Don't you remember that I had my fingers in my ears??' She started to walk away and her date followed her, and then in a sweet voice he said to the man, 'It was nice meeting you'.. What was so nice about it, she wondered? He then explained he had seen this man the night before, and knew he was crazy. The girl felt very strange, like she had over-reacted. But that guy was scary.. No, she acted appropriately, she decided. She and her date walked down some little side streets. He started asking her about why she'd never been married. This was always a topic of interest to foreigners. They think all women should be married by the age of 25. The girl was amused. Some young kids were loudly passing by, and the boy raised his hand to her face. 'Why did you do that?' she asked. 'To block your eyes, they were shining a lazer at you'.. 'Thanks', she said.
In the end the boy had called his aunt to pick him up. She had arrived and they exchanged some words, and then he walked her to her car. He gave her a little kiss on the cheek, and told her he'd like to see her again when he returned. She agreed that she would like that, and they went their separate ways. She drove home feeling pleased that everything worked out, and that she had overall had a nice evening. She marvelled at how difficult it was for her to just relax in the company of a stranger. A few hours went by, and as she played back the events of the evening, she decided this was a really nice guy. Maybe dating wasn't so horrible.

Love it or Hate it?

In the UK (and Australia) there is a very unique condiment that people form very strong opinions about. It's a dark brown, thick, vegetable spread called 'Marmite'.. It looks like molasses and tastes like syrupy bouillion cubes.. I kind of loved it for about a week.. It reminded me of a previous trip to England, and I found it very comforting spread (very thinly!) on a fresh slab of whole grain toast.. Then one day in haste for work, I made the fatal error of spreading it 1 mm too thick.. It was so offensive and salty and murky.. I had to take a little vacation from it.. Tonight, the evening before a 1/2 marathon race, I thought it might be a good idea to load up on that sodium, so I braved a tip of a teaspoon full.. And I actually felt more energetic (after gagging).. So I went to their website to see how much salt I was actually getting.. I clicked on the 'Marmite Hater' section to see how British advertising compares with American, and found this:

file:////Haters of Marmite, it's time to recoil! The spread you love to hate has just gotten worse... the monstrosity that is the new Marmite Squeeze Me.
Just when you started to forget its gruesome taste - it's back. This time it's in a plastic container, so no matter how hard you try to smash it against the wall - it keeps bouncing back. If only it would take the hint and go away..//

Friends, it's salty.. Good night, and good luck..

Flies and Neckties

Now it's time to get serious and get a blog post in. I've run out of eating excuses.. I've stuffed my face with a handful of dried cherries to satisfy my emotional need for dessert. I'm torn between writing some serious commentary on the state of American politics (having just viewed the PBS documentary The Dark Side, shedding some light on the flimsy reasons we decided to attack Iraq), and the journey of a gnat inside my eye. Hmmm. I'm going to go with the insect, to clarify, the latter topic. (Though in March an entomologist did name a slime-mold beetle after George W).. My entire family has always taken a great liking to the world of bugs and insects and flying and crawling things in general. I myself do an excellent imitation of the common house fly cleaning himself.. Maybe it's my near-obsessive need for independence that makes me find parasites so riveting.. (Warning: skip the next section if you're one of those weak-stomached people).. There was a program on TV retelling amazing survival stories, and they told of this 16- yr- old girl whose plane had crashed in the Brazilian rain forest. She was the sole survivor, and awoke from an unconscious state to find herself still strapped into the aircraft seat which had landed in a tree. With the dense population of insects, she had discovered that any open wound she had received was now covered in bugs. Her journey to safety took several days and several swims through crocodile infested waters, but to me the most fascinating part of the adventure was (here's the gross part!) that she discovered many of the bugs had layed their eggs into her wounds, burrowed under her skin, and she systematically extricated them one by one by breaking the skin open.. I believe she removed over one hundred of these.. I don't mean to turn this girl's trauma into light-hearted entertainment, but I really do think it's human nature to enjoy watching this stuff.. We kind of want to know how to handle this situation, in case any one of us should ever find ourselves in the same predicament.. Well, I can tell you, until you've experienced a gnat thrashing about between your eyelid and your eyeball, no amount of coaching will ease this experience.. So let me be of assistance.. This has happened to me enough times that I've got a small collection of the dead carcasses taped to my running journal as evidence.. My story's not nearly as glamourous as the previous heroine, but I think you may still find it helpful in your travels. OK, first rule of bugs: They love bodies of water, and they always come out when it's above 60 degrees farenheit. They also are attracted to light sources, which may explain why they always go right for my eyes. The trail where I normally do my running passes some little swampy areas, so every Summer a new swarm of flying things has to be contended with. The first time a gnat flew in my eye, I did the completely wrong thing. I slammed my eye shut in an effort to trap it. And my eye just burned like crazy, and I thought if I opened it, it would burn more, so I didn't. Don't do that. The human body is an amazing little medical center all rolled into one skin.. The correct thing to do when a bug flies in your eye is to leave it open! That's right. This takes a lot of practice, because every fiber in your body is telling you to trap that little bastard! But no.. By leaving your eye open, the natural healing process immediately takes over and starts cocooning the little critter into a soft cushion wrapped in eye rubber, preventing him from being able to damage your orb.. So no burning occurs.. But this cocooning takes an incredibly long time to complete, so in the meantime, you will feel every little wing flap and escape technique this little bugger can drum up, all in the cozy environment of your eye socket. Quite unnerving to a girl trying to complete a four mile run knowing that the last two miles will be accompanied by an unwelcome hitchhiker. Still, given the choice of a fly in my eye or a larva incubating under my skin, I think I'd choose the former.

Addendum: (entomologist-types are very big on 'addendums'): Whilst driving to work today, I noticed R&B singer Rhianna's song 'There's a Thug in my Life' sounds amazingly like 'There's a Fly in my Eye'.. Check it out!

I'm Naming Names...

Who are the people in your neighborhood? Well, I have no idea what their names are, and sadly, if one were to say hi in the grocery store, I'd be clueless as to how I knew him. But put me in a local race, and I'll see faces and legs I've run against many years.. And I don't want them saying hi to me either! During the race, that is.. So a few months ago I was very distressed about folks talking to me during a race.. They saw Tamar running slower than her usual pace, and figured she must be taking it easy, so it's fair game to start a little conversation.. But no, I wasn't taking it easy, I was just germinating a flu that would give me a temperature of 103 later that evening (the same cold which forced Deb to take me to the doctors office and also gave birth to this blog.. No Deb, didn't give birth to it.. That sentence needs revamping..) So.. Ah yes, that fateful day, three people talked to me; One asked if I was training for a marathon, which right off the bat, isn't a compliment.. The logic being, 'well, she's running SLOW, she couldn't possibly be taking this race seriously'; Coming from Tara, I knew she meant no harm, an honest question.. Still makes you aware that people are scrutinizing things, and you best not become too damn slow, or you will hear an even less complimentary comment such as, 'Wow, you must have been run over by a truck, the way your feet are dragging'.. Next comment comes from Steve (told you I was naming names!) Upon passing me, 'Hi Tamar.' No return greeting from me, as I was really working hard, regardless of how much slower it was than usual.. Steve felt he should check on my health, because surely if I didn't answer him, there could be a serious health risk.. He continued: 'Are you OK?' I felt exhausted from the run and the flu, and then degraded by someone that was passing me, and what I thought, playing some kind of a psychological game (don't think this is paranoia, it's actually quite common for competitve runners to test others in mid-competition.. Bill Rodgers, who has won the Boston Marathon four times*, was famous for pulling this trick.. Amazingly, I still think he's a really cool guy..) OK, so I had a talk with both of these parties, and cleared the air.. No harm was intended, I think they were shocked that I had confronted them (Did they not know how seriously I take this stuff?) but that was then, and this is now.. Over the past 2 months my hamstrings have been acting up and not allowing me to get quality runs in, such as speedwork, which of course, is essential to doing well in races.. It was pretty discouraging, but this seems to happen to me every time I try to make a breakthrough in the 5k.. That short little bugger gets me everytime.. So at least, I consoled myself, I can still do normal training runs so I won't become completely unfit.. Just not very fast.. So there was a 10k race today that I decided to run to just see where I'm at.. I figured if my hamstrings didn't give me too much trouble, I could maybe run a 46 minute race, which would have pleased me, because the course was hilly, too.. So I get there, see a lot of people I know.. I'm relaxed, because I have my handy hamstring excuse to fall back on if questioned.. Runners are so insecure.. So the race starts, I'm feeling good.. I keep telling myself to 'run within yourself', meaning don't push the pace harder than what I can maintain for 6 miles.. My breathing is smooth, we're in the first 1/2 mile, and I find it odd that the front runners are still within grasp.. They must be taking it easy to warm up, I think.. Then we hit the first mile in 6:49.. Whoa! I guess all that resting has paid off! So I'm excited.. There's one woman with braids in front of me.. Then another woman, Terri, passed both of us calmly.. Terri will win this race, I already know.. The woman in braids puts more of a distance between us, so I forget about her for now, and continue concentrating on the zen of this race.. We start up a dirt hill, and Steve from the last race catches up to me.. He says, as he passes me, 'You look strong Tamar, keep it up'.. I guess I trained him well.. Then a new guy enters the club of 'talkers to Tamar in a race'! Scott says, as he's catching me up that same hill, 'How are you doing?' I don't answer him, because, buddy I'm here to run a race, and sorry, but breathing is more important to me right now than giving you updates on my state of well being.. He doesn't get it.. He has to add a new inquiry: 'Is everything OK?' Now lets really analyze this one.. Why would you ask such a question during a race? This guy was clearly pulling a Boston Billy.. I waited til we crested the hill to answer.. 'Actually', I said, 'I'm feeling a little tired.. Can you help me out?' That got a good laugh from another guy, and Scott just said, 'This is a piece of cake for you!' as he zoomed ahead of me.. Whatever, I was feeling a real lactic acid burn in my legs between the hill and mustering up that sentence for Scott.. Then a real cool thing happened.. I started getting closer to braid woman, and this guy Rich V. said, 'Atta girl, you can get her!' I had a friend on the course! How rare.. Racing is like feeding with piranhas, NO ONE is your friend! You're as physically maxed out as you're ever going to be in this lifetime, and then knowing that if you slow down, there are five people that would be thrilled to pass you .. Is so mentally stressful.. So hearing this man genuinely cheer for me made me want to stop and kiss him! Of course, I couldn't do that, because then all the other people that I had worked so hard on conditioning to not talk to me would immediately demand they be kissed too, as all groups of people seem to demand equal attention.. That's how it is in my world, anyway.. I remember when I was 10, I had this friend named Tiffany that one day decided she wanted me to kiss her! I refused, but then my friend Tara (different Tara) made the same request on a different occasion! WTF, as Jon from Colorado would say.. But let me get back to the race.. Over 1/2 a mile til the finish, I passed braid woman, and the ugliest part of the race is upon me.. A long long stretch to the finish line.. The clock is so tiny and far away, but I know if I don't maintain the effort, I will either get passed by a woman or risk losing my great time.. So suffer I must.. I run all out to a 44:55 finish.. Second woman overall, I'm so happy.. I shake hands with all the people that helped me.. Braid lady, as she really motivated me to keep going.. And Rich V. especially.. Racing really is like (I imagine) being in the trenches..
I even punched Scott in the arm affectionately, after it was all over.. Maybe a little harder than acceptable..

* Thanks to my friend Quentin for correcting my info on Boston Billy; I had previously stated that Bill has the most wins at Boston, which is incorrect; That honour goes to Clarence DeMar with an amazing 7 wins there, the first one set in 1911 at the age of 22 the last one in 1930 at the ripe old age of 41, which still stands today, SEVENTY SIX YEARS later as the oldest man to win Boston!

Cinderella and the والخفاف زجاجيّة

Ten dollars to the first person to translate this post title! OK, this one's going to be a little more modern, as far as my posts have been going.. I've noticed my little pattern of telling stories that are slightly dated, chronologically speaking.. So here's a story from my life as an adult.. Just to prove that I have a little more on my mind than running ahead of my competition.. It's subtle, but you may see it..

My best buddy from college, Mike, got in touch with me via an email forwarded from someone in my running club.. Mike and I had completely lost touch.. Back in college we were both math majors, and the long hours spent studying left us in complete need of frivolity during our free time. We often entertained ourselves trying to find Mike a new girlfriend.. No one took us seriously, as our approach was more of the slapstick variety.. I would drop pennies on the floor of the student union building, and Mike would chase after them and as he would pick them up, he'd attempt an uninvited glance up some poor unsuspecting girl's dress.. Needless to say, Mike remained without a girlfriend throughout our friendship, which worked well for me, cause I could keep studying with him.. So back to our reunion.. I was happy to get the email from him, and reminisced about the goofy times we had together.. I wondered what he had been doing with his life these past 10 years.. I had heard that he transferrred to a different college before we graduated, and was studying macrame and dog sledding.. I did a quick search on the internet, and to my complete shock, discovered that Mike had been living in Morocco, spoke fluent Arabic, was employed by the UN, and was devoting his life to humanitarian causes.. This couldn't be the same Mike. Impossible. I called him up.
"Hi, Mike?"
"Yes? Who is this?"
"Guess."
"Say a few words. That voice is familiar."
"Ok, you should know who this is.. "(laughing)
(Giggles from Mike) "I know who this is! Are you naked?"
"Ah, some things never change! "
So Mike was still the same.. Yet he'd also added this completely different dimension to his life. He was involved in an Arabic Culture club, and invited me to his rooftop party in the city.. I was excited to go.. We don't have rooftop parties upstate in the country.. Our roofs are slanted here and everyone would slide off.. But in the city it's romantic.. You can see buildings of all different styles and heights, sprays of neon colors, all in a swirl of urban regalia.. Mike was the perfect host. In honour of my visit, he walked down the five flights to greet me at the door (no elevator in this building).. He looked exactly the same! A serious looking man in a business suit was by his side, apparantly the first guest. Before we knew it, lots of people started arriving. As I was introduced to people, the question of my connection to the Arabic club kept coming up.. My response was the same to each person: Mike is an old friend from college.. And I speak Hebrew, which is also a semitic language.. That line fell flat and generally ended the conversation.. The author of an Arabic instruction book was present as well.. I figured I'd have more of a connection with him, as I am really fascinated with language structures.. I mentioned that Arabic and Hebrew seem to have many similarites.. He agreed, and for emphasis, had me recite the numbers in Hebrew from 1 to 5.. I obeyed, and after each recitation, he would follow with the Arabic equivalent. 'see the similatrities?' He asked excitedly.. I wanted to, but they sounded as different to me as Chinese to Amharic.. I was still pleased with he exchange, and felt a renewed interest in learning Arabic.. It's such a suave, smooth flowing language.. When I was studying Childhood Education at university in Tel Aviv, my favorite class was Arabic.. I had to drop it because I think the concept of learning a new language instructed in Hebrew was too mind-boggling for my brain to process.. I'd stop and think about it, and then start dreaming in Spanish altogether.. So back to the hafleh on the roof.. I met all the women.. Very diverse group.. From 18-40ish, some dressed in traditional muslim attire, some completely modern and revealing.. There was an air of all wanting to meet Mr. Right.. I got that same sense from the men too, come to think of it.. Well let me rephrase that.. The men that looked clearly like Arabic was not their native tongue fell into this category.. Single New York City guys just trying to meet a nice girl.. Some were very odd, but that's to be expected at semi-random gatherings of people.. I had spoken to almost everyone there, when I noticed this small gathering of people sitting in a dark corner of the roof. One man seemed to be looking at me, and I remembered greeting him earlier as I was ducking out of the building for a little bite to eat.. I remembered he had very beautiful eyes, and a calm, intelligent face.. I walked over to him and started a conversation.. I may have been a little tipsy at that point, but the wind at that altitude seemed to sober me up, so I know that my thinking was clear. I'll call this man Said, just because I saw a film with a character with this name, and he had the same, steady gaze.. But that character was very, very serious, and didn't seem capable of light conversations with people of the opposite sex. My Said was very involved in our conversation, or more commited, I should say.. I was aware of being a bit of a conversation hog, but I was just so pleased with this man's ability to follow me.. Somehow I got onto sagas of famous female distance runners.. And this man was completely up-to-date with the BBC'S commentary on the subject! Wow! How many of my recent suitors even watch the BBC let alone follow topics I'm passionate about? Said also had a very centered continence, as though he could survive equally as well on a deserted island isolated from humanity as with a roomful of his closest friends.. But the real sign that he found favor in my eyes, was that I didn't even realize that he was a smoker until after I had left.
I looked down at my watch at one point, and realized that if I ran the whole way, I could make it to Port Authority to make the 12:30 bus back home.. There was no time for any further exchanges.. I said 'goodbye, it was lovely meeting you.. Visit my blog', and the other three men in our circle said in unison, 'We'd like to visit it, too'.. I said my good-byes to a very disappointed Mike.. He was hoping for a help-mate in the after party clean-up (sometimes living far away is a great advantage).. And off I went, down the five flights of steps, the only person running in Hell's kitchen this breezy Friday night..

Sunny disposition continues, even in lockdown

Yes, I snuck out of the office! I broke rule #47, 'it is forbidden for employees to leave the grounds during their 15 minute breaks'.. And now I'm documenting the deed on my work pc! But I felt this exceptional jaunt was justified, as I had to mail my three Mother's day cards in time for the next mail pick-up.. So I marched myself to the mailbox, dropped the goods, hurried back.. The sun was bright, I had the guilty feeling of an escaped felon.. And I saw a car getting ready to back up.. Oh no! I better not get run over, cause then they'll fire me! I make it back to my desk, notice I haven't pressed the start button of my break-timer.. We are hiring soon I've heard, anyone looking for employment? Gotta get back to work..

The trouble with Sagittarians

As a 7th grader, living in Manhattan had its ups and downs.. Back then in the '70's, before Giuliani or whichever mayor shipped all the bad elements to the East river, the streets were packed with creepy contruction guys and crude street hooligans, just waiting to prey on innocent girls.. I remember walking down the street one day and a superfly looking dude slithering his arm around my shoulders and saying, 'Yo mama, you lookin' good today'.. I was 13, and not amused.. I removed his arm and said 'I'm NOT your mama', and walked away indignantly.. Nearly 3 decades later (am I THAT old? How did that happen?) my take on NYC is completely different.. I go to the city now to satisfy my wanderlust.. I'm always in the best mood there, the coffee tastes incredible, the pedestrians are fascinating in their ethnicity, the bums are refreshingly candid.. I'm walking down the street, starry-eyed and grinning at how happy I am to be alive and taking in all the excitement that is New York, passing corner stores that carry the freshest floral bouquets from Holland, suave old men walking their jack russells decked out in their little scottish capes.. I'm so content, I almost wish a brick would fall out of a window and kill me, because how can it get any better than this? And I pass a crazy street lady cursing at all the oblivious white people enjoying their mornings.. 'All these FUCKING people!' I pass her, still grinning, because it's kind of hysterical, and then she says about me as I pass 'BITCH!' I'm nearly laughing aloud, because my bluebirds are still dancing around my head in my perfect little world in my perfect little city.

Your Mother's Better than My Mother..

It was a late night conversation with my oldest friend Lena (name changed so she doesn't get in a huff).. I met her back in junior high school in Manhattan.. I was 12.. We both had extremely unconventional families.. My father and older brother and I lived in a loft designed as a photographers studio.. My bedroom was a darkroom, and my bed the place where photos are suppossed to get developed.. I was a precocious pre-teen who thought she had it all figured out.. Then I met Lena, a really sweet, friendly girl, who always wore a scarf around her hair which made her look about 35.. She wanted me to come over after school one day, but was embarrassed by her poverty.. I reassured her that our furniture consisted of electrical spools used as tables found on the street, so she felt ok about the whole thing.. Her mother was this very sweet little old lady who kept offering me iced tea.. She was eccentric, and often embarrassed her two daughters.. Like when she took us all to see Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman, everytime a suggestive scene came on, she'd put a paperbag over Lena's little sisters head.. Rose was Catholic, and occasionally would just sit and talk to herself aloud about how Lena and I shouldn't be friends because I was Jewish.. Lena was mortified, but I knew Rose was a little disconnected from reality sometimes, and didn't take it personally.. I knew she really liked me anyway, because when we all went to Roosevelt Island, she made sure to buy me Mountain Dew soda and a bag of sour cream and onion potatoe chips.. And I was very touched, because I knew sometimes they didn't even have enough money to eat .. You overlook some things, once someone shows they care about you, especially when you're craving that attention that your own family hasn't given you.. I overlooked the really bad smell I noticed one day in their house, too.. Well, not totally.. 'Lena? What's that disgusting smell?' 'I don't know.. It's that bag.. Ma!! What's in that bag??' 'Oh, I saw a dead bird on the street, I felt sorry for it..' MA!!!' (from both daughters) 'You can't keep a dead bird in the house!!' 'He's not hurting anyone'... Flash to my own mother.. My mother has suffered from depression all of her life, but I never really acknowledged it, and just thought she was absent.. Now that she's nearly 70, I'm faced with it and not sure how to approach her oncoming move into needing a caretaker.. So many different issues.. And my approach is to feel responsible, but also dread at having to figure out what she should do with her life..I'm still trying to work out stuff in my own life, so the prospect of directing a severely depressed woman into happiness is a little overwhelming.. So that night Lena and I agreed to trade mothers.. It's a perfect idea! I instantly felt stress dissipate at the exchange.. Something about perception of hardship intensifies it all, and I think we are all too close to our own situations to be objective.. So my first task as Rose's new daughter was to convince her to move into this great senior housing apartment in Manhattan.. Rose had been living in Brooklyn for about 15 years, and complaining the whole time that she wanted to go back to Manhattan.. It would make everyone's lives much easier, as Rose doesn't get around very easily, and complains loudly when Lena or her sister Jenny try and get her on a senior minibus.. They're so convenient, and come right to her house, inexpensive.. But she yells, 'I'm not OLD, I don't need this thing!' and then when they do get her on it, she scowls the whole time.. And makes loud comments about the other poor, down-trodden travellers.. 'Look at that man, he looks retarded!' Lena and Jenny just duck down and pretend they're not with her.. So Lena makes this big effort with the apartment in Manhattan.. Rose needs to be interviewed by the manager first.. Lena takes the day off from work, is on her way over to Rose's house, and calls her on the cell phone to let her know she'll be over soon.. Rose: 'Yes, that woman called me.. I told her I didn't want that apartment'.. Lena flipped out, 'Ma! What do you mean you told her you didn't want the apartment?? Do you know how hard it is to get an affordable place in Manhattan??' 'Oh, another one will come up'.. Lena was too angry to continue the conversation.. So she relays all this to me.. I tell her 'Let me talk to Rose, she'll listen to me.. We have the same birthday' .. Lena is thrilled someone else is getting involved.. I haven't spoken to Rose in about 5 years.. The last time I spoke to her, the whole family was at my house for Thanksgiving.. We were all having a great time, til Rose realized that the girls had meant for her to spend the night at my house.. They tried to convince her that we'd go for a nice drive in the country the next day..She was furious with them.. She doesn't like her routine disturbed.. Plus I didn't have a clock in my house at the time, and it was driving her crazy.. We all went to sleep by about midnight.. I kept hearing Rose every hour.. I was in a sound, peaceful sleep, then I was woken by Rose proclaiming 'How can you live without a clock? I need to know what time it is!' Back to sleep I went.. Again I was woken by her voice in the night: 'Operator? Can you tell me what time it is?' Back to sleep I fell (a perk of being a distance runner.. You can always fall right back to sleep!) Rose's voice again in the night, musing sarcastically: 'Go for a country drive! You'd think they saw enough of the country on the busride up here!' I had to laugh at that one..
OK, so I call Rose as requested.. I was getting excited about talking to her, so many years had gone by, I tend to lose touch with people, and then wonder why because I remember that I really liked them? Anyway, I figured I'd warm her up a little with catch-up talk.. I told her how I ran my first marathon last year.. I asked her if she'd ever gone to watch the NYC marathon.. She said one year she did, she was up at Columbus circle.. I got all excited, 'Yeah! That's around mile 22 where the runners enter the park!' 'Yes,' she said, 'I took a photo there'.. More excitement from me, 'Oh! Did you get a picture of the elite runners in the front or just the crowds of runners?' 'I got a picture of a nice statue in the park'.. Yeah, she's a sagittarius alright.. So I snuck in the first question about the apartment: 'So I heard Lena found a really nice apartment for you in Manhattan.. You weren't interested?' 'I like where I live.. It's on the first floor'.. That sounded reasonable.. 'Yes, but Lena and Jenny could visit you a lot more if you lived in Manhattan'.. She changed the subject.. I felt bad, I could tell it was uncomfortable for her, but I also knew she was being damn stubborn (typical again of the sunsign!), and that her daughters really knew what was best for her.. 'Rose, I'd hate to see you burn your bridges, apartments are hard to come by'.. I was wondering if she knew how hard Lena worked to get this place for her? Just when I started to think she wasn't with me at all, she said sheepishly, 'Lena came in like a lion and out like a lamb!' I had to hold back from laughing.. Lena was FURIOUS when Rose told the lady she wasn't intersted.. 'Sabotoge! My mother is sabotaging my efforts!!' We talked a little more about our art, and her starting a walking program.. I got off the phone feeling really happy to have talked to her, she's really a sweet person.. But also like my efforts to change her mind were in vain.. The next day I got a call from Lena thanking me, as she spoke w Rose, and she had agreed to take a look at the apartment! I was amazed.. Funny how people take in stuff you've told them and you sometimes think they're not even listening.. *sigh*
And it's 100% easier to help someone elses mother.. Lenas' turn

Dried persimmons and raising Bantus..

I'm one of the biggest fans of dried fruit.. In particular, dried peaches. When done correctly, they are the most perfect food in the universe. Some fruits however, should never be dried. They can taste like a moist old sneaker. Hence, my first taste of a dried persimmon (a fruit that when fresh is quite delicious), will also be my last. OK, this is quite self-indulgent, this fruit-rant.. If anyone has been wondering where I've been, first THANK-YOU for caring! Second, sorry for neglecting you.. Third, I've been happily just not visiting the computer.. I was working on an art project with an ominous deadline, so I needed time to fret about that a few weeks while doing absolutely nothing about 'getting to business'.. Phew, it's finally finished, and I feel kind of wiped out from the effort, but cleansed and evolved.. But not anxious to get started on another one for maybe another year.. Ha ha, this from a girl who wants to quit her job to do something more creative.. I better find a sugar-daddy if that ever happens.. HA! Next to Gloria Steinheim, (sp?) I'm probably the last person in the world you'd ever find even knowing what a sugar-daddy is, much less hooking up with one.. Luxury to me is ice cubes in my drink.. Socks without holes.. Having all of my limbs.. How would I find use out of a sugar-daddy? (I keep thinking of daddy-long legs when I write that word.. Now THERE'S a useful creature.. Selflessly ridding your house of unwanted other bugs..) OK, I was really going to write about some interesting encounters in NYC this weekend, but the moment passed, and besides, I know you're all getting sick of the running stories.. Well, they'll be back, I just need a little break.. Besides, I just drank a Hoegaarden, so I'm in a festive mood..