Trying to be thankful

I’m finding it increasingly hard to be thankful for 80-degree weather in November. Not that it isn’t nice--but come on, it’s November for goodness sake. It’s a bit like receiving a leather jacket for Christmas when that’s what your brother wanted not you…it’s not quite what you asked for but you feel the need to be happy about it because it’s a gift, right?

Well I’ll come clean and say I wasn’t happy with the leather jacket (sorry mom), and I’m not happy with this summer-like weather when it is supposed to be raining (or better yet snowing, but that’s not likely here). This is the time of year when weather is supposed to afford us the luxury of relaxing by the fire, warm drink in hand, of wearing jeans and cozy wool sweaters. Hearty stews don’t taste quite right to me after a day in the sun, my new down comforter is too heavy to use, and forget sweaters - I’m still wearing tank tops and flip-flops.

The impending holidays seem just as out of place to me. Stringing Christmas lights when it’s 78-degrees out? (I witnessed this horror yesterday and thought I’d maybe skipped over part of my life and was now a retiree in Arizona) It was wrong. Almost as wrong as the new spring line of clothing coming out (think spaghetti straps, flip-flops, short-shorts) in Fred Meyer in February in Alaska and seeing all the high school girls wearing it in a foot or more of snow.

Some people are genuinely excited about all this warmness and sunshine and new green grass sprouting up. Some of these same people have grown up in California and think 40-degrees is freezing however, so they’re a little off to begin with. Don’t get me wrong, I love a sunny day…just not when it’s supposed to be cold. It’s a bit like trying to enjoy eggnog lattes all year long—part of what makes them so good is that you can only get them part of the year.

Soon enough I’ll be pining for warmer spring days I’m sure. I’ll be tired of the rain and wind, tired of having to wear a coat everywhere, ready for the heat of the sun on my face and for my bare feet to be in the sand again. Until then I’ll sip my eggnog latte in the sun and keep my comments about the warm weather to myself, mustering up thankfulness for untimely gifts.

Running through the dark with Dean

I ran with Dean Karnazes and survived! (Okay, it was only 40 minutes but it WAS dark). We got to hear firsthand how the race through the Sahara was, how he completed 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days, what keeps him moving on some of those aforementioned runs, that his kids like to run, about his health food company, and he confirmed how it all started (15 years ago on his 30th birthday he left a bar in San Francisco after drinking too much tequila and ran to Half Moon Bay...which for all you non-Californians is 30 miles). Quote of the evening: "People respect what I do, but not everyone understands it."

To read more about Dean, see http://www.ultramarathonman.com/flash/

Moving (in one place)

Unlike maybe the average person, we’ve moved. A lot. As in ‘seven-times-in-four-years’ kind of a lot. And we’ve just done it again. This time however, we literally moved across the street, which sounds ridiculous I know, but it really made sense for reasons I won’t go into here.

While all this moving has been good, at times I feel like we’ve been in constant motion for nine years now and I don’t know if it’ll ever change. I know the moving has kept me from becoming exceedingly comfortable in any given place, but I think now that it has been a good thing. We’ve packed and sorted our things so many times (or weighed keeping them based on a dollar per pound shipping rate) that many of our belongings we’ve sold or given away, lightening our load immensely. We’ve made new friends and said goodbye to old friends. We’ve sold our brand-new barely ever used fire red KitchenAide mixer which was a wedding present…okay—so there are some things we regret having to get rid of.

We’ve called Washington, Alaska, Hawaii and California home but in the end home has been consistently where we pause in between all the motion. Being sick this past week has allowed me to reflect on my need to keep moving, and my irritation on having to stop. Running (or, when pregnant in Alaska walking, hiking and snow shoeing or the ever-dreadful pool running) has been a near constant through all the moves. I’ve run on frozen lakes and frosted trails with hoar frost in Alaska, beside corn and hay fields and on ocean dyke roads in Washington, on cement sidewalks and treadmills in Hawaii, and now mostly sandy trails below larger than life redwoods in California.

Running trails with varied landscape, elevation, flora and fauna is one of my favorite things in life to do. Somehow fresh air and fresh scenery always seem to produce a fresh outlook on life. Around the trail bend another vista awaits, at the top of the hill with quads burning the ocean may be in view. Along the path I’ve maybe had conversation with a friend, old or new. I’ve sorted out thoughts, dismissing worries farmer-blow style. I return home, wherever that may be at the time, thankful and refreshed, ready for what lies ahead.

As we settle in (again) to a new home I treasure the houses, communities, peoples and trails that have been in our past, and am thankful for the opportunity to again find our place in our ever-moving world.