In the last week or so I have become obsessed with Pinterest, and I have spent oodles of time collecting my favorite things from the internet--geekery, kitten photos, fashion, inspiration, memes, food--and pinning them to my virtual pinboard. It is a very very simple and quick creative outlet, a way to assemble the things that are, for whatever reason, you, and appreciate them, show them off or keep them for future reference. I found right away that my pinterest interests were not necessarily what I expected they'd be. People who know me probable assume that I have a pinboard full of books, but actually, I don't. I have plenty of books in my house, in my life, in my purse...everywhere. What I found was that I was really having fun collecting fashion and pretty things for the house. I have never thought of myself as a fashionable or stylish person, in part because I never bothered much to be very put-together, but I do have a style and I think that I should spend more time expressing it.
Together with that revelation was the realization that there are lots of projects I'd like to do that i have been putting off for years, things that would make my house more comfortable or liveable or just more designed. I spent a fair amount of time and energy arranging things when we moved in, but once we'd been here for a few months I just ... stopped. And the upstairs never really got done. The spare room is a crazy dysfunctional hodgepodge of mismatched furniture and piles of stuff, and the bedroom is only a little bit better. I am going to try to harness this newfound creativity and do some crafty projects, some rearranging and some refinishing. I need to stop thinking of our home as a temporary place that doesn't have to work very well. We live here, after all.
Fancy Apple Custard Tart
I got it into my head last night to bake, and so bake I did. I made an apple custard tart based on this recipe, but I modified it to be prettier. I followed the recipe for the crust and the custard, but instead of slicing the apples and pre-cooking them, like the recipe recommends, I peeled them, carefully sliced them into long, very thin strips, and then curled the strips into rose shapes. I assembled the raw "roses" in the tart shell, poured the custard over the top, and the sprinkled powdered sugar and cinnamon over the whole thing. I baked it for about 25 minutes, and the apples got plenty cooked that way. Here's the step-by-step of the apple part:
First I peeled the apples and then used a peeler and a cheese slicer to cut long thin strips off the peeled fruit. Then I fashioned the roses by taking a strip of apple and curling it around itself, adding more strips around the edge of the roll like petals.
Then I arranged each apple rose into the tart shell, starting around the edge so that the edge of the tart shell held the end edge of the rose "closed" so it wouldn't pop open and fall apart. Then I added more roses so they were each holding each other up.
Then I filled in the middle of the tart with more roses until they were all firmly, but not too tightly, wedged in. Then I poured the custard over the whole thing, up to about a quarter inch from the edge of the tart shell. Then I sprinkled powdered sugar and cinnamon over the top.
After baking, the apples were gorgeous and caramelized, so I didn't add any more glaze, but you could lightly brush a simple glaze on if you wanted.
I do not understand
Today I had to call someone for work. It was a call I wasn't excited about and bound to be somewhat annoying in content, but it was my job, so hey, I did it. I called the person, and it turns out this person has set their phone so that when you call them, instead of hearing the traditional ringing noise, you hear a minute and a half of the most god-awful pop song in the history of the world. I cannot adequately describe the feelings of despair and sadness that came over me, or the sense of loss I felt for the previously unappreciated traditional ringing noise. Oh, ringing noise, how did I ever take you for granted? I love you, ringing noise! I was trying to describe the song to my coworkers who did not fully appreciate my despair, and words were inadequate. I turned to Google for assistance, and lo:
I believe it was this one--
I believe it was this one--
Why? Why, cruel universe? Why?
Running, and why I haven't been doing it
After the marathon, I had every intention of doing a long run each weekend after a short recovery period. I wanted to keep up the level of fitness I have and keep my mileage up for my physical and mental health. But I didn't. I let almost two weeks go by before running at all, and I've only run once since the marathon. (IN my defense, I tried to run today, but there were no free treadmills at the gym, so I did a long workout on the elliptical.) I think there are a couple of reasons why I have been slacking.
First, I ran a freakin' marathon, so I get to be lazy for a week or two. Duh. Second, I needed a mental break. The marathon was physically exhausting, yes, but my body was recovered within a few days. What it took me longer to recover from was the mental side. The race meant a lot to me, as a tribute to my uncle who passed away, as a personal triumph over injury and setbacks, and as a symbol of the importance of testing yourself, making yourself do the hard things, and just flat out refusing to give up. I have had a lot going on in my personal and professional lives recently, and the race was a microcosm of everything that has been going on in my head: 5 hours of thinking, of feeling real physical and emotional pain, five hours of perseverance and difficulty and fear, five hours of meditation and determination. And I apparently needed a while to process all that and find equilibrium again.
I also just happen to be an incredibly externally motivated person. I will do just about anything for a gold star, for an A+, or for a blue ribbon, but I can't get out of bed to run two miles just because I know that I need to. So I need to sign up for another race, probably a half marathon, so that I have some reason to keep training this winter. I am fine if I have a concrete goal or a buddy who is counting on me, but my running buddies are all swamped with other things right now, and so I need to find some other way. I am also hoping to start a more regimented strength training program, because I can't seem to make myself do push-ups just because it would be nice to be strong, but if someone I've never met yells at me on my TV screen in an exercise video, I will do all the damn pushups in the world. I am crazy.
Anyway, I haven't been running much, but I already feel flabby and tired and useless and double extra neurotic, so I am taking steps to ensure that I run more for the wellbeing of myself and others.
First, I ran a freakin' marathon, so I get to be lazy for a week or two. Duh. Second, I needed a mental break. The marathon was physically exhausting, yes, but my body was recovered within a few days. What it took me longer to recover from was the mental side. The race meant a lot to me, as a tribute to my uncle who passed away, as a personal triumph over injury and setbacks, and as a symbol of the importance of testing yourself, making yourself do the hard things, and just flat out refusing to give up. I have had a lot going on in my personal and professional lives recently, and the race was a microcosm of everything that has been going on in my head: 5 hours of thinking, of feeling real physical and emotional pain, five hours of perseverance and difficulty and fear, five hours of meditation and determination. And I apparently needed a while to process all that and find equilibrium again.
I also just happen to be an incredibly externally motivated person. I will do just about anything for a gold star, for an A+, or for a blue ribbon, but I can't get out of bed to run two miles just because I know that I need to. So I need to sign up for another race, probably a half marathon, so that I have some reason to keep training this winter. I am fine if I have a concrete goal or a buddy who is counting on me, but my running buddies are all swamped with other things right now, and so I need to find some other way. I am also hoping to start a more regimented strength training program, because I can't seem to make myself do push-ups just because it would be nice to be strong, but if someone I've never met yells at me on my TV screen in an exercise video, I will do all the damn pushups in the world. I am crazy.
Anyway, I haven't been running much, but I already feel flabby and tired and useless and double extra neurotic, so I am taking steps to ensure that I run more for the wellbeing of myself and others.
Second Annual Apple Picking
I had a fantastic day picking apples and gawking at beautiful scenery and gorgeous fall foliage today, followed by a fun housewarming party for some friends who now live in a ridiculously awesome neighborhood in SE Portland.
I will spend most of tomorrow making things out of apples. Behold:
I will spend most of tomorrow making things out of apples. Behold:
Marathon!
I ran a marathon today.
I am incredibly proud of that accomplishment and of all the work that went into it. I am also proud of the money raised for ACS and the tribute to my uncle. But I know now more than ever that I could not have done it on my own, and that I owe a debt of gratitude to a number of people.
First, my husband, who put up with all the training runs, encouraged me and supported me through injury and discouragement, and rearranged his life to accommodate this hobby of mine. Second, Jared, who ran the last six miles with me, who kept me moving when I lost my will and let the pain take over too much of my mind, who read me ridiculously bad puns to make me laugh and pushed the pace little by little to get out of me what I didn't know I had to give. I am also indebted to Kali, who filled my office with good luck balloons, Betsy, who sent cookies and love, Jed, who made me a totally awesome and ridiculous running playlist, Marc, Ryan and Erica, who offered training advice and encouragement, my parents and sister, and all the absolutely wonderful people who contributed to my fundraiser. You are all amazing. Thank you so so so much.
The race itself went okay. The weather was atrocious and much worse than the forecast, so I was underdressed for the cold and the wet. My poor legs were freezing for most of it. I ran the first 9 miles or so on pace and felt good, but my injury flared up a bit in mile nine and got pretty bad through mile 11, and I honestly wasn't sure I could keep going. I was counting down miles until I could get to the aid station where my husband was waiting, and focusing exclusively on just getting there, not even thinking about the rest of the race. I was crying a little with the pain and discouragement, and I ran right into The Husband for a huge hug. I hugged him hugged him and then turned and kept running, reinvigorated by the love and support, and determined to get to the finish line somehow.
I was hurting for another few miles, and then my injury quieted down a bit and I relaxed and just let my pace be about 30 seconds off goal. I was fine until I got to the St. Johns Bridge, or rather, the hill leading up to the bridge. That thing is a bear, and most of the runners were just walking up it. The skies opened up and started raining in earnest, and I struggled with my jacket to try to stay as warm and dry as possible. The fiddling with my jacket accidentally reset my watch, and I couldn't get it reset. So I had no more pace counter and only the mile markers on the course to go by, but I knew I was going sloooooow. Getting up the hill was slow, and then afterward I was exhausted and my hip started bothering me again. I trudged along, counting down the miles until Mile Marker 20, when I would meet my friend Jared. Three miles, two miles, one mile... When I saw him I almost burst into tears again. There is something profoundly comforting about knowing that you don't have to go it alone for the hardest part.
Jared was a little worried about my injury and the condition I was in... I was way off pace and in some pain, but he found exactly the right balance of encouragement and humor and he ran a foot or so ahead of me to gently, gently, push the pace. I sped up quite a bit my last five miles thanks to him, and I kept going when I wanted badly to quit. Every mile marker I asked him, "I can run __ more miles, right?" And he would say "yes. You got this!" When we passed Mile Marker 25, he pushed the pace a little more, and kept saying "almost there! Almost there!" He was infectious and encouraging and generally awesome. We had to part ways when I got the finisher's chute, and I ran the last 200 yards alone, under my own power.
I was searching frantically for The Husband at the finish line, but I never saw him. He was there, searching for me, but I missed him somehow. He missed me, too, and when I called him from the line for my finisher's shirt, he thought I was still running! After the finish line, they hand you all kinds of random stuff, I ate a bagel and some juice and some flatbread and whatever other food they had, and then they gave me a medal, a coin, a finisher's charm, a shirt, an emergency blanket, and a rose. I was holding all that stuff when I finally met up with The Husband and Jared again. When I finally saw the husband, he engulfed me in a huge hug and fed me and warmed me up and held all my marathon things and generally took care of me all the way home.
Except for bathroom breaks and water breaks, I ran the whole thing. I didn't stop and walk on the hills; I didn't stop and walk when I was crying from pain, or discouragement or grief. I just ran. I laughed when he told me this, but my friend Marc was right: You just show up, start running, and then keep doing that until the finish line. So, I just kept doing that.
 |
I am incredibly proud of that accomplishment and of all the work that went into it. I am also proud of the money raised for ACS and the tribute to my uncle. But I know now more than ever that I could not have done it on my own, and that I owe a debt of gratitude to a number of people.
First, my husband, who put up with all the training runs, encouraged me and supported me through injury and discouragement, and rearranged his life to accommodate this hobby of mine. Second, Jared, who ran the last six miles with me, who kept me moving when I lost my will and let the pain take over too much of my mind, who read me ridiculously bad puns to make me laugh and pushed the pace little by little to get out of me what I didn't know I had to give. I am also indebted to Kali, who filled my office with good luck balloons, Betsy, who sent cookies and love, Jed, who made me a totally awesome and ridiculous running playlist, Marc, Ryan and Erica, who offered training advice and encouragement, my parents and sister, and all the absolutely wonderful people who contributed to my fundraiser. You are all amazing. Thank you so so so much.
The race itself went okay. The weather was atrocious and much worse than the forecast, so I was underdressed for the cold and the wet. My poor legs were freezing for most of it. I ran the first 9 miles or so on pace and felt good, but my injury flared up a bit in mile nine and got pretty bad through mile 11, and I honestly wasn't sure I could keep going. I was counting down miles until I could get to the aid station where my husband was waiting, and focusing exclusively on just getting there, not even thinking about the rest of the race. I was crying a little with the pain and discouragement, and I ran right into The Husband for a huge hug. I hugged him hugged him and then turned and kept running, reinvigorated by the love and support, and determined to get to the finish line somehow.
I was hurting for another few miles, and then my injury quieted down a bit and I relaxed and just let my pace be about 30 seconds off goal. I was fine until I got to the St. Johns Bridge, or rather, the hill leading up to the bridge. That thing is a bear, and most of the runners were just walking up it. The skies opened up and started raining in earnest, and I struggled with my jacket to try to stay as warm and dry as possible. The fiddling with my jacket accidentally reset my watch, and I couldn't get it reset. So I had no more pace counter and only the mile markers on the course to go by, but I knew I was going sloooooow. Getting up the hill was slow, and then afterward I was exhausted and my hip started bothering me again. I trudged along, counting down the miles until Mile Marker 20, when I would meet my friend Jared. Three miles, two miles, one mile... When I saw him I almost burst into tears again. There is something profoundly comforting about knowing that you don't have to go it alone for the hardest part.
Jared was a little worried about my injury and the condition I was in... I was way off pace and in some pain, but he found exactly the right balance of encouragement and humor and he ran a foot or so ahead of me to gently, gently, push the pace. I sped up quite a bit my last five miles thanks to him, and I kept going when I wanted badly to quit. Every mile marker I asked him, "I can run __ more miles, right?" And he would say "yes. You got this!" When we passed Mile Marker 25, he pushed the pace a little more, and kept saying "almost there! Almost there!" He was infectious and encouraging and generally awesome. We had to part ways when I got the finisher's chute, and I ran the last 200 yards alone, under my own power.
I was searching frantically for The Husband at the finish line, but I never saw him. He was there, searching for me, but I missed him somehow. He missed me, too, and when I called him from the line for my finisher's shirt, he thought I was still running! After the finish line, they hand you all kinds of random stuff, I ate a bagel and some juice and some flatbread and whatever other food they had, and then they gave me a medal, a coin, a finisher's charm, a shirt, an emergency blanket, and a rose. I was holding all that stuff when I finally met up with The Husband and Jared again. When I finally saw the husband, he engulfed me in a huge hug and fed me and warmed me up and held all my marathon things and generally took care of me all the way home.
Except for bathroom breaks and water breaks, I ran the whole thing. I didn't stop and walk on the hills; I didn't stop and walk when I was crying from pain, or discouragement or grief. I just ran. I laughed when he told me this, but my friend Marc was right: You just show up, start running, and then keep doing that until the finish line. So, I just kept doing that.
Thank you!
I am so touched and heartened by all the incredible support I've gotten for the marathon tomorrow, and for all the people who have sponsored me by donating to the American Cancer Society through my charity runner page. You are all incredible, incredible people. Thank you so much. I feel like anything is possible right now.
Today, the sun is shining, and the rain has stopped, and the world is taking a deep breath. I went downtown this morning and picked up all my race stuff, so now I have plenty of mini Larabars, my race bib, my tracking chip, and my ACS DetermiNation running shirt. I am laying out my gear, charging my Ipod and my GPS watch, and psyching up. I am ready.
See you at the finish line.
Today, the sun is shining, and the rain has stopped, and the world is taking a deep breath. I went downtown this morning and picked up all my race stuff, so now I have plenty of mini Larabars, my race bib, my tracking chip, and my ACS DetermiNation running shirt. I am laying out my gear, charging my Ipod and my GPS watch, and psyching up. I am ready.
See you at the finish line.
Melancholy and Nostalgia
I was feeling a little down today and so when I came home I loaded up a playlist of songs that I loved years ago, a melancholy mix that reminds me of an earlier time, of my friend Miriam, and of growing up. Here are two of my favorites:
Neko Case, Thrice All American
Neko Case, Thrice All American
Rosie Thomas, October
Cooking
I blog a lot about food, though this blog has somewhat been taken over by running, and I think it's probably pretty clear from my recipes and my posts that I love to cook and spend a lot of my time and energy thinking about food and making food and ... well, eating food, of course.
I've alluded to the family's love of food and cooking before, and so it will probably surprise no one that I come by my foodishness naturally. My grandmother on my dad's side is an amazing cook, a woman who used to host the kinds of corporate dinner parties you only see now on television. My grandmother majored in home economics in college (she's 94, and I'm proud that she is the second generation of college-educated women in my family; I am the fourth) and is an experimental and daring cook compared with the norms of Midwest 1950s, so my dad and his siblings grew up on curry and lobster, as well as twice-baked potatoes and homemade pasta. My aunt Esther inherited her skills and her love of food, and is my inspiration in all things gustatory.
My mother is also a great cook, and furthermore devoted an impressive amount of time and effort to quality and home-made food for us kids, so I grew up relatively free of artificial colors, instant boxed meals, and white bread. My mother worked around the two pickiest eaters ever born and gave us healthy and yummy food, so we modeled our eating habits on that pattern. I still can't eat sugary cereal or abide fake cheese, for example.
Anyway, I was always interested in food. Growing up, my sister and I would do "Patio Court" for our parents, an imaginary restaurant that involved us moving the table out onto the deck, carefully setting it with the good dishes, and then carefully cooking a "fancy" dinner for them to eat out there. Sometimes we were successful, sometimes not, but I am grateful that my parents were willing to let us try to cook everything on our own and learn to have fun with cooking for real. I also used to watch cooking shows and try to replicate things I'd seen, from fancy chocolate garnishes to homemade pasta, often without a recipe. I often failed, but again, my parents were supportive of my various kitchen experiments.
My parents were also really encouraging of self-sufficiency when it came to food. They kept the breakfast cereal on a bottom shelf and put a small amount of milk in a kid-size pitcher on a reachable shelf in the fridge so that I could get my own breakfast from kindergarten on. So I grew up enjoying food and eating and with a lot of freedom to try things and make things so long as I followed basic health rules.
However, it was in college that I really began to think of cooking as my primary hobby and social outlet, a way to bring people together and create a home where we didn't really have one. I even cooked in the dorm, in the one kitchen in the dorm building, to make special dinners for my boyfriend and friends. I made really simple things like big batches of fry bread, and really homey things like casseroles, and nothing terribly amazing. Later in college, when I lived off-campus, I cooked more and more, often for big groups of people. I hosted dinner parties and holiday dinners and fed my housemates on a regular basis. I got better at cooking. I made homemade pasta, I made my own soup stock, and I got creative. I fed The Husband, who was then The Boyfriend, because left to his own devices, he would either forget to eat or live on $5 pizzas and late-night quesadillas.
I love to have people over for dinner, and I love to cook surrounded by friends and laughter and conversation. I feel truly in my element under those circumstances, like I am where I was meant to be and the universe makes sense and is a joyous place. Food is good.
I've alluded to the family's love of food and cooking before, and so it will probably surprise no one that I come by my foodishness naturally. My grandmother on my dad's side is an amazing cook, a woman who used to host the kinds of corporate dinner parties you only see now on television. My grandmother majored in home economics in college (she's 94, and I'm proud that she is the second generation of college-educated women in my family; I am the fourth) and is an experimental and daring cook compared with the norms of Midwest 1950s, so my dad and his siblings grew up on curry and lobster, as well as twice-baked potatoes and homemade pasta. My aunt Esther inherited her skills and her love of food, and is my inspiration in all things gustatory.
My mother is also a great cook, and furthermore devoted an impressive amount of time and effort to quality and home-made food for us kids, so I grew up relatively free of artificial colors, instant boxed meals, and white bread. My mother worked around the two pickiest eaters ever born and gave us healthy and yummy food, so we modeled our eating habits on that pattern. I still can't eat sugary cereal or abide fake cheese, for example.
Anyway, I was always interested in food. Growing up, my sister and I would do "Patio Court" for our parents, an imaginary restaurant that involved us moving the table out onto the deck, carefully setting it with the good dishes, and then carefully cooking a "fancy" dinner for them to eat out there. Sometimes we were successful, sometimes not, but I am grateful that my parents were willing to let us try to cook everything on our own and learn to have fun with cooking for real. I also used to watch cooking shows and try to replicate things I'd seen, from fancy chocolate garnishes to homemade pasta, often without a recipe. I often failed, but again, my parents were supportive of my various kitchen experiments.
My parents were also really encouraging of self-sufficiency when it came to food. They kept the breakfast cereal on a bottom shelf and put a small amount of milk in a kid-size pitcher on a reachable shelf in the fridge so that I could get my own breakfast from kindergarten on. So I grew up enjoying food and eating and with a lot of freedom to try things and make things so long as I followed basic health rules.
However, it was in college that I really began to think of cooking as my primary hobby and social outlet, a way to bring people together and create a home where we didn't really have one. I even cooked in the dorm, in the one kitchen in the dorm building, to make special dinners for my boyfriend and friends. I made really simple things like big batches of fry bread, and really homey things like casseroles, and nothing terribly amazing. Later in college, when I lived off-campus, I cooked more and more, often for big groups of people. I hosted dinner parties and holiday dinners and fed my housemates on a regular basis. I got better at cooking. I made homemade pasta, I made my own soup stock, and I got creative. I fed The Husband, who was then The Boyfriend, because left to his own devices, he would either forget to eat or live on $5 pizzas and late-night quesadillas.
I love to have people over for dinner, and I love to cook surrounded by friends and laughter and conversation. I feel truly in my element under those circumstances, like I am where I was meant to be and the universe makes sense and is a joyous place. Food is good.
Monte Cristo!
I may have just killed my husband with one of these. They are delicious.
Mammal-Free Monte Cristos- This recipe makes 2 sandwiches, but I really hope you could have figured that out on your own.
Nouns-
4 slices high-quality white bread (I used a rustic boule)
4 slices swiss cheese
4 ounces of honey roasted turkey breast
2 eggs
1/4 cup milk
currant jam or blackberry preserves
3 tbsp butter
1 tbsp powdered sugar
toothpicks
Verbs-
In a shallow dish, whisk together the milk and eggs. Then, heat the butter in a medium skillet over medium high heat. While butter is heating, assemble one sandwich, as follows: bread, cheese, turkey, cheese, bread.
Slide a toothpick on an angle through the sandwich on each long side to hold it together while frying.
Gently lay the sandwich in the sizzling butter.
Fry each side for 2-3 minutes, turning very gently and carefully.
Remove the sandwich from the pan and lay on a paper towel to cool. Repeat with the second sandwich. Garnish with sieved powdered sugar and serve with the jam or preserves. And napkins. Lots of napkins.
Mammal-Free Monte Cristos- This recipe makes 2 sandwiches, but I really hope you could have figured that out on your own.
Nouns-
4 slices high-quality white bread (I used a rustic boule)
4 slices swiss cheese
4 ounces of honey roasted turkey breast
2 eggs
1/4 cup milk
currant jam or blackberry preserves
3 tbsp butter
1 tbsp powdered sugar
toothpicks
Verbs-
In a shallow dish, whisk together the milk and eggs. Then, heat the butter in a medium skillet over medium high heat. While butter is heating, assemble one sandwich, as follows: bread, cheese, turkey, cheese, bread.
Slide a toothpick on an angle through the sandwich on each long side to hold it together while frying.
Gently lay the sandwich in the sizzling butter.
Fry each side for 2-3 minutes, turning very gently and carefully.
Remove the sandwich from the pan and lay on a paper towel to cool. Repeat with the second sandwich. Garnish with sieved powdered sugar and serve with the jam or preserves. And napkins. Lots of napkins.
Marathon Training FINAL WEEK! Eek!
Well, the last month of training has not been what I hoped it would be. I haven't been running the miles I was scheduled to... I've been running about half that, actually. And my last few longs runs weren't long. I've been battling injury and the demands of travel, family and work. I've been struggling with grief and exhaustion and discouragement. But, ready or not, I am running a marathon one week from today.
I had a good run today: 8 miles in the rain. It was a good reminder that it's October now, and I'm facing a few long months of these gloomy, soggy runs. It was a wake-up call that the marathon itself might not be the sunny adventure I had envisioned. It was also a reminder that I'm in better shape than I think. 8 miles is, frankly, easy, even at the relatively ambitious pace I set today, and even after a few weeks of slacking off or being hurt. I can run 8 miles no problem. So even though I haven't logged the distanced I wanted, I am trying to convince myself that I am ready enough, that I can do this, and that it will all be okay.
I also want to take a moment to ask for help again. In this last week I expect I will be nervous and suffering from some self-doubt. I need encouragement and support. Also, if you can, please consider clicking on the link in the right sidebar of this blog and sponsoring my run for the American Cancer Society. It would mean a lot to me. Thank you so much, everyone, for all the help and support you've already given me. I'm grateful.
I had a good run today: 8 miles in the rain. It was a good reminder that it's October now, and I'm facing a few long months of these gloomy, soggy runs. It was a wake-up call that the marathon itself might not be the sunny adventure I had envisioned. It was also a reminder that I'm in better shape than I think. 8 miles is, frankly, easy, even at the relatively ambitious pace I set today, and even after a few weeks of slacking off or being hurt. I can run 8 miles no problem. So even though I haven't logged the distanced I wanted, I am trying to convince myself that I am ready enough, that I can do this, and that it will all be okay.
I also want to take a moment to ask for help again. In this last week I expect I will be nervous and suffering from some self-doubt. I need encouragement and support. Also, if you can, please consider clicking on the link in the right sidebar of this blog and sponsoring my run for the American Cancer Society. It would mean a lot to me. Thank you so much, everyone, for all the help and support you've already given me. I'm grateful.
Meal Plan- It's fall!
Inspired by the weather, this week's meal plan is heavy on crockpot cooking and comfort food.
Husband Soup
Chicken and Dumplins
Curried Lentil Soup
Monte Cristo Sandwiches
Leftover from last week's plan:
Quinoa Salad
Crockpot Chickpea Curry
Husband Soup
Chicken and Dumplins
Curried Lentil Soup
Monte Cristo Sandwiches
Leftover from last week's plan:
Quinoa Salad
Crockpot Chickpea Curry
Fishing
Because of recent events in my life, both joyous and sad, I have been reflecting a lot about loved ones lost and about my fondest memories of them. I realized that it has been over five years since my grandfather passed away, and in that time, I have left college, started and finished law school, taken the bar, started working as a lawyer, gotten married and settled into my grown-up life, the life that I have in part because of his encouragement and support. These last five years have been jam-packed with milestones, and not a single one has passed without me thinking of him and wishing he could be there to see it.
My fondest memories of my grandfather generally involve food or fishing, because those were the two of his passions that he most ardently and thoroughly involved the family in. Fishing occurs at every non-wedding family gathering, and when our family was a corporation for a while (for tax reasons having to do with the family farm... or something) or corporate motto was "let's eat!"
I have so many fond memories of grandpa, of him patiently untangling fishing line that I had managed to tangle again, of him encouraging me to order off the grown-up menu at fancy restaurants when I was a kid, of him giving The Husband the once-over when we first started dating. (Verdict: he'll do. Grandma's verdict, on the other hand: "Oh lord, she is going to steam-roller right over that poor boy. Grandma, I have tried not to!) My grandfather's death was the first major loss of my life, so I learned how to grieve at the same time I was learning to grow up in so many other ways. Losing him, getting into law school, finishing college, those things all happened more or less together. I think of them as a kind of fulcrum of my life; they are the point where I tipped away from childhood and into the life I have now.
There is more to say, but I seem to have run out of the saying of it. The moral of the story, I guess, is that I am still learning to grieve, and it is a process I hope I don't get much practice at. Happy October, everyone.
My fondest memories of my grandfather generally involve food or fishing, because those were the two of his passions that he most ardently and thoroughly involved the family in. Fishing occurs at every non-wedding family gathering, and when our family was a corporation for a while (for tax reasons having to do with the family farm... or something) or corporate motto was "let's eat!"
I have so many fond memories of grandpa, of him patiently untangling fishing line that I had managed to tangle again, of him encouraging me to order off the grown-up menu at fancy restaurants when I was a kid, of him giving The Husband the once-over when we first started dating. (Verdict: he'll do. Grandma's verdict, on the other hand: "Oh lord, she is going to steam-roller right over that poor boy. Grandma, I have tried not to!) My grandfather's death was the first major loss of my life, so I learned how to grieve at the same time I was learning to grow up in so many other ways. Losing him, getting into law school, finishing college, those things all happened more or less together. I think of them as a kind of fulcrum of my life; they are the point where I tipped away from childhood and into the life I have now.
There is more to say, but I seem to have run out of the saying of it. The moral of the story, I guess, is that I am still learning to grieve, and it is a process I hope I don't get much practice at. Happy October, everyone.
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