You know that feeling? That feeling you get when you finally conquer a challenge you've been facing or the goal you've been reaching for that always seems out of your grasp, but you don't give up, never giving in to the little voice of doubt that wants to keep you from reaching for the stars. There's nothing you can't do or face when you put the proper motivation behind it. It's the feeling of sheer joy, making you believe you can conquer the world. Nothing is too big for you. It doesn't matter how small the accomplishment, you want to squeal like Elle Woods at her graduation, "I did it!" So here's my squeal,
"I DID IT, I DID IT, I DID IT!" I jogged my first full mile of the season, without stopping!!! Okay, I know big build up for something that most people accomplish on a regular basis, but hey, it's one step closer to a daily run without feeling beat at the end. Today, I conquer the world. Well at least the pile of paper work on my desk and hopefully another jog tonight. Have an amazing day all and keep fighting for your goals and dreams, they ARE within your reach!
Little Wishes
Johnson Shut-ins
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Memories Anyone?
Spring arrives each year and with it my sudden desire to get up early and jog. Maybe it's the increasing need to be bathing suit ready by June, or possibly the pull of morning-song and warm weather is impossible to resist. Either way, with the sun hurling it's brilliant beams across the countryside earlier and earlier each morning I find it increasingly easier to trade the comfort of my bed for the snug fit of my running shoes and the suns caress on my face. If I'm honest, I'll admit that my jogs tend to be mostly walks with a few brief attempted sprints thrown in when the season first begins. But, as April gives way to May and my winter weary limbs are reminded how to move at a quicker pace, the morning motion becomes more jog and less walk. I enjoy seeing the progress. I've never been a runner, but can't help but thrill at the brief time to myself. While my legs are busy stroking the pavement my mind wanders. Reflection over the previous days events, planning for the upcoming weekend, reminders of my to do list, and reminiscing. That last one occurs the most, and has been the most helpful in transforming my walk to a jog. I become lost in years past. Memories of high school, my childhood, times spent with my family on vacation, how quickly my children are growing and all other sweet pictures of the past flood my mind and I quickly forget to feel out of breathe.
I was rummaging through those memory files this past week as I kept my fingers crossed against the impending storm clouds rolling through the area. The cloudy morning hadn't done much to encourage me out of bed but thankfully the habit has been established and the disappointment in myself at not getting out would have been great. My German Shepherd had done his best at pulling me through the first half of our regular route but once we had established a rhythm he became satisfied with jogging along side of me. The clouds kept the morning cool and the breeze chasing itself through the trees made me grateful I'd kept on my sweatshirt although it was quickly becoming unnecessary. Slap, slap, slap slap, inhale, exhale, the pattern no longer requires any mental reminders. I was riffling through the file cabinet of memories, flipping through old pictures of my brother and I running over a rocky Maine coast when the rain started to fall. Light at first and then steadier. A woman about my age who I'd passed earlier at a walk was making a hasty retreat home. "So much for the walk" she yells as she dashes past, her little Schnauzer trying it's hardest to keep up. The rain is a welcome addition to my warm face. Suddenly I'm no longer 6 and chasing crabs in Maine but 18 and snorkeling with a group of friends near a remote island in the Bahamas. I begin to smile as I think back over that week full of adventure. The rain quickly reminds me of our second day on the island. We'd been warned that as the old house we were staying in received all of its water supply from an ancient cistern, we were to take as few showers as possible. As most of our time was spent in the ocean that didn't seem to be a problem. But if you've spent time in salt water, you'll be well aware that after multiple days in the sun and in the water you begin feeling permanently sticky and your hair takes on a stiff feel that no brush can eliminate. While the boys in our group didn't seem to mind the lack of personal hygiene, the girls were growing weary of it. We had just returned from a trip to a neighboring island, where sunbathing and sand castle building had been the central focus, because a thunderstorm quickly appeared on the horizon.
Inhale, exhale, slap, slap, slap, slap, keep the rhythm. The rain now matches the pace of my feet washing my face and hair.
There we are, climbing out of the boats and walking up the dock towards our bunkhouse. We deposit our belongings and race back onto our deck as the first wave of rain comes pouring down. Dressed in nothing but our swimsuits we enjoy the fresh feel of the rain washing off the layers of sand and salt. Suddenly one of the girls races back in and emerges a short time later with her shower gel and shampoo cradled in her arms. It only takes a second for the rest of us to catch on. Washcloths, soap, shampoo and conditioner quickly cover the porch railing. And right there under the downpour of a tropical storm eight girls got their first shower in days. We were grateful to wash the salt from our bathing suits in the process as well. Rivers of soap suds streamed down the stairs and into the lawn as our hair lost it's straw impersonation and once again felt soft and smooth. The boys and our counselors all watched in amusement at the scene in front of them, but later remarked they wished they had joined in. The rain ceased nearly as quickly as it had begun, and our towels were rendered useless while we enjoyed air drying and sunbathing in the evening hours, fresh, clean and smelling of an exotic fruit basket in a field of flowers.
Slap, Slap, Slap, my pace slows as I tilt my head back and laugh while the rain washes away the salt from my face.
I was rummaging through those memory files this past week as I kept my fingers crossed against the impending storm clouds rolling through the area. The cloudy morning hadn't done much to encourage me out of bed but thankfully the habit has been established and the disappointment in myself at not getting out would have been great. My German Shepherd had done his best at pulling me through the first half of our regular route but once we had established a rhythm he became satisfied with jogging along side of me. The clouds kept the morning cool and the breeze chasing itself through the trees made me grateful I'd kept on my sweatshirt although it was quickly becoming unnecessary. Slap, slap, slap slap, inhale, exhale, the pattern no longer requires any mental reminders. I was riffling through the file cabinet of memories, flipping through old pictures of my brother and I running over a rocky Maine coast when the rain started to fall. Light at first and then steadier. A woman about my age who I'd passed earlier at a walk was making a hasty retreat home. "So much for the walk" she yells as she dashes past, her little Schnauzer trying it's hardest to keep up. The rain is a welcome addition to my warm face. Suddenly I'm no longer 6 and chasing crabs in Maine but 18 and snorkeling with a group of friends near a remote island in the Bahamas. I begin to smile as I think back over that week full of adventure. The rain quickly reminds me of our second day on the island. We'd been warned that as the old house we were staying in received all of its water supply from an ancient cistern, we were to take as few showers as possible. As most of our time was spent in the ocean that didn't seem to be a problem. But if you've spent time in salt water, you'll be well aware that after multiple days in the sun and in the water you begin feeling permanently sticky and your hair takes on a stiff feel that no brush can eliminate. While the boys in our group didn't seem to mind the lack of personal hygiene, the girls were growing weary of it. We had just returned from a trip to a neighboring island, where sunbathing and sand castle building had been the central focus, because a thunderstorm quickly appeared on the horizon.
Inhale, exhale, slap, slap, slap, slap, keep the rhythm. The rain now matches the pace of my feet washing my face and hair.
There we are, climbing out of the boats and walking up the dock towards our bunkhouse. We deposit our belongings and race back onto our deck as the first wave of rain comes pouring down. Dressed in nothing but our swimsuits we enjoy the fresh feel of the rain washing off the layers of sand and salt. Suddenly one of the girls races back in and emerges a short time later with her shower gel and shampoo cradled in her arms. It only takes a second for the rest of us to catch on. Washcloths, soap, shampoo and conditioner quickly cover the porch railing. And right there under the downpour of a tropical storm eight girls got their first shower in days. We were grateful to wash the salt from our bathing suits in the process as well. Rivers of soap suds streamed down the stairs and into the lawn as our hair lost it's straw impersonation and once again felt soft and smooth. The boys and our counselors all watched in amusement at the scene in front of them, but later remarked they wished they had joined in. The rain ceased nearly as quickly as it had begun, and our towels were rendered useless while we enjoyed air drying and sunbathing in the evening hours, fresh, clean and smelling of an exotic fruit basket in a field of flowers.
Slap, Slap, Slap, my pace slows as I tilt my head back and laugh while the rain washes away the salt from my face.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Silent Night
Monday afternoon found me at the office with a packed overnight bag, a grocery bag of food, and a blow up mattress prepared to weather out at least one night, possibly more, at the office for the lawn care business that I work for. This winter has found me spending many early mornings trudging through the snow drifts in my little suv at 3am to open the office and help coordinate snow removal efforts. But the predictions of heavy ice made me rethink my travel arrangements this week. Fifty-six hours later, I made it home. After a round of hugs to my kids I nearly ran outside to take care of chores and enjoy a few moments of peace with the animals. I found much more though.
There was a moment Wednesday night, while I walked through our pasture, when I had to stop and pinch myself to make sure it was all real. A sheer blanket of white crystals coated the ground, glittering and dancing under the lights of the house. The few miniature footprints leading up the hill told the story of hours of sledding joy from my son. I traced the shallow sled path from the top of the hill down the pasture hill and into a crash landing at the fence line with my eyes, and smiled as the images flashed through my mind.
I couldn't breathe for fear it would break the precious silence that surrounded me. It was pure elegance. The only sound was the crunch of the snow beneath my feet and the slow mewing and melodious munching from the horses enjoying their meal. Even our social chickens seemed content from their coop, and were reluctant to break the silence. The distant streets and skies deserted, and I couldn't help feeling gratitude towards the heavy ice that kept everyone home. Tilting my head back, I was greeted by the blue velvet elegance of the cloudless night, and for the first time in days, the stars were screaming their glory from the heavens. As I watched each brilliant light twist and turn in the dark, like a young girl showing off a new dress, the chaos of the day slowly began to melt away. Childhood memories come creeping to mind of winters fun gone by, and finally, I broke the silence with a spontaneous burst of laughter that could no longer be restrained. It echoed off the hill and bounced through the trees startling the sleeping birds, and then drifted away. The silence returned, and I, I kept on smiling.
There was a moment Wednesday night, while I walked through our pasture, when I had to stop and pinch myself to make sure it was all real. A sheer blanket of white crystals coated the ground, glittering and dancing under the lights of the house. The few miniature footprints leading up the hill told the story of hours of sledding joy from my son. I traced the shallow sled path from the top of the hill down the pasture hill and into a crash landing at the fence line with my eyes, and smiled as the images flashed through my mind.
I couldn't breathe for fear it would break the precious silence that surrounded me. It was pure elegance. The only sound was the crunch of the snow beneath my feet and the slow mewing and melodious munching from the horses enjoying their meal. Even our social chickens seemed content from their coop, and were reluctant to break the silence. The distant streets and skies deserted, and I couldn't help feeling gratitude towards the heavy ice that kept everyone home. Tilting my head back, I was greeted by the blue velvet elegance of the cloudless night, and for the first time in days, the stars were screaming their glory from the heavens. As I watched each brilliant light twist and turn in the dark, like a young girl showing off a new dress, the chaos of the day slowly began to melt away. Childhood memories come creeping to mind of winters fun gone by, and finally, I broke the silence with a spontaneous burst of laughter that could no longer be restrained. It echoed off the hill and bounced through the trees startling the sleeping birds, and then drifted away. The silence returned, and I, I kept on smiling.
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