I used to have dreams about running long distances before I ever became a runner. In my running dreams my body would move swiftly and with abundant strength over fields of grass. I would never feel out of breath, only immense joy in the ability to move my body with such ease and power. Of course, then I would wake up, in my chubby short-legged body and remember that it was only a dream. For years of my life, running was painful and embarrassing. I could never reclaim that exaltative sense of oneness I experienced with my body in those dreams during my waking hours.
Two years ago this summer, with much prodding from my boyfriend at the time, I started interspersing five minutes of running into my walking time on the treadmill. I would venture out onto the parkway to run with him, but in those beginning days, I was still embarrassed of how my body moved, how it jiggled, and how rapidly I would run out of breath. But I began to improve, bit by bit. I kept running after that boy and I broke up, and I turned something that had been ours into something that was mine.
Tonight I went running in the waning summer light, joyous in the cool air. I ran past the Franklin Institute, up the Parkway and down past the Art Museum. Midstride something felt familiar. It was a fleeting memory that drifted past my consciousness and disappeared, like the microscopic sandcrabs you find at the beach that leave only a small pore on the surface of the sand, to prove that they once were there. The terrain was different, pale stretches of sidewalk replaced the field of grass my dreams had conjured, but it didn’t matter. My body ran in life, in waking, like it had in my dreams.

I’ve got a big old, bad old headache that is crippling my ability to work or write anything interesting right now. Something better later, I promise.

In the early 70’s, when their marriage was still fresh and young, long before my sister or I came on the scene, my parents had brief (extremely brief) stint as models. They had a friend who was a photographer, and needed subjects for a series of pictures he was taking. He didn’t have any money, so they did it as a favor. They spent the day in the hills above San Francisco, dressed in their hippie best, my mom’s long brown hair drifting in the breeze.
These pictures became really popular. I have one hanging in my living room, my parents younger than I am now, laying together in a grassy field with their eyes closed. It was once the cover of “San Francisco Life.” Others were printed on greeting cards and wall plaques, available back in the day at your local Hallmark.
My grandma Bunny (dad’s mom) went to a party once at the house of a co-worker. When she went to use the bathroom, she glanced at the photo hanging over the toilet and was stunned to recognized her youngest son and his wife. Everyone at the party was called into the bathroom to check out my parents.
It’s definitely a unique footnote in the story of my family.

I sat down at my computer this morning to check my email before heading out to work, and noticed that I had messages from both of my parents. They had both sent me a link to the same article from the Oregonian, so despite my rush to get out the door, I took a look at the page they sent.

It was the review of my sister’s new cd, “Despite the Crushing Weight of Gravity” and it’s a pretty terrific review.

Marty Hughley says,

Her voice is clear and sweet, recalling at times Suzanne Vega or Dirty Martini’s McKinley, and even — when she opts for a slip-and-slide sort of phrasing popular with young female folkies these days — Ani DiFranco.

I may be the proudest big sister you’ll find these days. Raina’s talent and her ability to translate that talent into a tangible piece of art, awes and amazes me. She is driven and passionate and I admire those traits in her greatly. Plus, I just love her buckets and am filled with joy to see her succeed.

If the review peaks your interest, and you want to get your hands on this cd, scoot on over to CD Baby and get yourself a copy. Just search for Raina Rose. And remember that name!

Last christmas, thanks to my parents, I joined the ranks of the white-strings-in-ears zombies that seem to roam everywhere these days. I love my pod, and frequently wish I had gotten one with a larger memory, because I’m close to hitting my 5000 song wall and I’m nowhere near having all I want on there.

But recently, I came to the conclusion that my pod is possessed. My understanding of the possession came slowly. I would put it on pause and walk away for several minutes, expecting it to still be paused on the same song when I returned. But the song and the play mode would have shifted. After this happened several times, I saw a pattern. It always reverted to the same cd. I was on the trolley the other morning, mid-song, when it seemed to skip, as an old record on a turn table would, and the song “Fine, Fine, Fine” started playing, the dulcet tones the incomparable Raina Rose (who also happens to be my younger sister) coursing into my ears. It seems the spirt of my (very much alive) schvester has taken hold of my iPod. I’m not sure what to do about this, but I don’t really think it’s all that bad. It’d be really cool if she was somehow tied to the pod, so that when she started thinking about me, her music spontaneously took hold of the pod’s hard drive. Probably it’s just a glitch, but if I have to have a glitch, I’m glad it picked my sister’s music to glitch on.

Glitch on, my rock star sister!

I had a rough start to my morning today. I got to work a little late, sat at my computer for an hour and then heading out across campus to attempt obtain the black access key that will actually allow me to get into the suite that contains my office. I wasn’t the most cheerful person as I trudged along, but then something fun and terrific happened. I glanced up an there, walking towards me was a friendly face. He was the first person I’ve run into randomly in this new job world, and it totally turned the tide of my morning. I wasn’t able to get my hands on the black access key, but it didn’t matter. When you are experiencing as many things as I have been lately, it’s really remarkable what a familiar face can do!

I just had a really odd/funny experience.

The phone rang, I answered and a husky voiced woman said, “Hi Mama-la, I’m just calling to tell you I’m going to sleep now.” I was a little taken aback when I heard this. One, because I have no children (and if I did, they wouldn’t sound like a smoker in her forties) and two, because I call MY mother every night and say those exact same words to her. The identical set of words, down to the Mama-la. I had a moment where I thought I might be caught in some bizarre parallel universe or that someone was playing an obscure joke on me. I shook those theories off and just accepted that I’m not the only one who calls her mom to say goodnight.

It’s just a little bit spooky. Cool, but spooky.

I got up this morning, and took a groggy shower. Silly me for thinking that that would be the only time I’d get wet today.

One of the perks of my new job is that my office is all the way across campus from where our mail gets delivered, which means that at least once a day, I get to take a walk. Some people would think this to be a pain in the ass, but for me, it’s a little reprive from sitting in my office alone, straining my eyes on my computer screen.

Today I took that walk, picked up the mail, dropped some grade sheets off in the registrar’s office, and when I walked out, it was raining. Not gentle, dampen the ground rain, but driving, soaking rain, complete with deafening thunder. I didn’t bring an umbrella with me, because I just wasn’t thinking. I stood there for a couple of minutes, under the overhang of the building, trying to wait out the worst of it. Unfortunately it really didn’t let up, and I needed to get back to work, so I just started walking. I tried to convince myself that at heart I’m still mostly an Oregonian, that my ability to dodge raindrops was an innate talent, one that I could access at any time. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. I got back to my office dripping, feeling grateful that while I was wearing a white top, at least there were two layers of white happening there.

I spent the rest of the afternoon drip drying, and by the time I reached the end of the day, only a few damp spots remained. The rain had stopped and the air temperature cooled off enough that it was pleasant walking weather. I headed for home down Market St., my sights set on a stop at Trader Joe’s. As I walked past 30th Street Station, talking to both my parents on my cell phone, I noticed a car driving towards me, going pretty fast. I happened to be positioned right next to a large puddle, which was shimmery with road oil and not to clean looking. Before I had a chance to react, the car drove right through that puddle, showering me with its contents. My hair was soaked, I looked like I was ready for a wet tee-shirt contest, and my glasses were wet to the point where I couldn’t see well, and I didn’t have a scrap of dry clothing on which to wipe them off.

Yep, it’s been quite a day.

Looks like I’m taking my iBook to my college reunion this fall, cause there’s wi-fi in them there hills!

My dad was here this weekend, and now I’m suffering from a bit of the “had to say goodbye to my male parent blues.” (Much preferred to the “what am I doing with my life” blues I was experiencing last week). It was a short visit, but we crammed a lot into 48 hours. I wrote a little something over at philadelphia.metblogs.com about the Phillies game we went to on Saturday night with the (mostly) Unitarian crew. I think, had I been interested, that I could have picked up a guy on the subway on the way down to the game. It’s quite a skill, I must say.
Today, we had brunch with my dad’s cousin in Phoenixville, I sat on the couch with the toy poodle and read a book while my dad and the cousin whopped each other with their intellects over a game of cutthroat Scrabble. Then we headed down 252 to New Town Square for lunch with my 86 year old Aunt Anne (who once, after mentioning that she thought I should lose a few pounds, started chanting at me, “lose weight, lose weight”). Ah, the priviledge of old age.
Then it was off to the airport with my dad. He lost his cell phone on the way out here three weeks ago, and was planning on checking the exact seat in the Denver airport where he was sitting when he lost it, thinking maybe, just maybe it was still there. Ah, the insanity of middle age.
And now, it’s Sunday night, I still have to make my lunch, brush my teeth and get my butt into bed. Ah, the insanity (tomorrow morning) of the sleep deprived.