Remember there’s no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end. ~ Scott Adams

Last week’s severe storm in my region had me thinking about the importance of small things in our daily lives. I was lucky to have been spared the worst of the disaster having lost power for just three days and not sustaining any property damage short of fallen branches.  I missed my morning coffee that I brew in the pre-dawn hours and sip while getting ready for my day. Luckily, I live close enough to a Starbucks which opens at 5 am. What a treat! I drove there in the early morning darkness in my jammies and hoodie and savored each sip. I missed drying my hair but I was getting my haircut on day two anyway. My hairdresser does such a great job that my hair even looks good after a full night’s sleep! I took fast showers; my water was still hot enough because of a sturdy gas water heater. My refrigerator is still reliable after 23 years and I did not toss out any food save cream and milk.

Still, my routine was disrupted. I was limited as to what I could do in the house as I always arrive home from work at the end of the daylight hours.  Other things were happening that disrupted my sense of balance and peace of mind.  People and situations from my past were appearing at unexpected places and times. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Normally, I would not have been bothered but then the spare key to my back door disappeared. I began to put an unhealthy equation together. Given the trauma from my recent past, it made perfect sense-at least to me. On the other hand, I knew that I was letting these small things bother me more than I should.  They were taking up valuable space in my head. Still, I found it difficult to settle my mind and I left for Tampa Bay in a bundle of nerves.

I was relieved when I landed! I fell into the warm embrace of the not so tropical air and the man I love. I took some time for myself as well and headed out for a 10k walk along the Pinellas Trail. The sun was comforting and the trail was very quiet. Only butterflies skittered about-a sign for me that my mother was near. I began to relax and reminded myself of the reason why I was down there.

The day before I left for the trip, I had received a beautiful necklace that my friend Emily had made in honor of my late mother. We planned on awarding it as a special gift to a race participant (as yet unknown).  The piece was clearly a work of art and labor of love (see photo). When Emily had originally presented her idea to me this summer, she had no idea of my mother’s affinity for these lovely creatures. Needless to say, I could not wait to show my father the piece.

After my therapeutic excursion on the trail, my boyfriend and I cut out to check on the pre-race preparations. My dad was in fine form as usual-running the show and attending to every detail of the event. When he slowed down enough so that I could show him the necklace, he burst into tears. In a moment of pure honesty, he said: “You should keep this for yourself.”  As much as I would have loved to have the piece, I knew in my heart that a special someone would benefit from it more than I.

The next day we arose at 4:30 am and headed to the race location on the bay. The sunrise was spectacular and there was a vibrant energy in the air as runners, walkers and their families began to arrive for the event.  As the Survivor Tent greeter, I was deeply moved by the stories of the men and women who are battling this monster of a disease. Some had traveled from as far as Central Florida and even Jacksonville to participate. As with any disease, age is never taken into consideration. I met two women in their twenties who have been battling pancreatic cancer for as long as five years. They are tough, strong and hopeful.

Sadly, of course, some who were there had lost loved ones and chose to take part to help raise funds for research. One particular family had lost a son, brother, father and husband only four months prior to the race. They became one of the race’s chief supporters. My father had gotten to know the widow of the man who died quite well and it was on race day that he suggested that we present the necklace to her. During the closing ceremonies, Suzanne (the chapter’s chief cheerleader) spoke of the necklace’s origins and presented it to Jen. As she descended the stage, Jen quickly walked over to me to express her appreciation. Then she said: “You don’t know how much this means to me. Every time that I go to the cemetery, I am visited by butterflies!” We hugged and cried and I told her that the necklace’s butterflies symbolized her and her husband.

I know that Jen will cherish the necklace forever. What I couldn’t know was how a gift from a friend of mine would begin to heal the broken heart of a complete stranger. My trip south and the connections that I made there helped give me perspective. I learned two things: don’t sweat the small stuff (the past is past and the key did turn up) and small acts of kindness help all of us heal our own broken hearts.

“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Today I was driving with two friends from church to work on an organic farm that grows fresh vegetables for local food pantries and homeless shelters. We were part of a small Sunday afternoon group that was helping a staff member put the gardens to bed for the winter. On the way over, we talked about the day, this day of the week in particular. We shared our angst about Sundays as the day that brought us the most anxiety. Commonly, this is a day that draws us inward; we think about the week ahead of us with dread.

Growing up, Sunday night was the night that I had the most trouble falling asleep. I hated school when I was young; I would have rather been home with my mother. At times, I would fake being sick in order to avoid hopping on the bus in the morning. My parents were well aware of my anxiety and did their best to provide a combination of comfort and tough love. My father was especially sympathetic. I have vivid memories of him coming to my bedroom to talk with me. He also sang songs-“Goodnight Irene” and “You Are My Sunshine” were standard.

As I a college student, I do not recall any feeling of Sunday blues short of the fact that it was a major study day. But upon entering the real world, dread reared its ugly head again. Then, after I became a full-time mother, it abated once more. I remember thinking, “Wow, I don’t have to deal with Sunday nights anymore!” (A small part of me thought this was one of the bonuses for staying at home with the kids.) It really felt like a relief.

Now, of course, I work full time and am once again battling those blues just like everyone else. As I stated in a previous post, Sunday afternoons were once some of the worst hours of the week for me. In particular, I recall the winter of 2011 to be an almost depressing time. We had an overabundance of snow that rendered the roads hazardous for weeks. For the first time in my life, running or walking became impossible because the streets were unsafe. My snowshoes were broken and my cross country skis were gone (I had sold them at a yard sale). I also had an under-abundance of money; so I had no social or shopping distractions to while away my time. What a great recipe for the blues!

However, time and money can certainly bring about a change in attitude. I have fewer money woes these days. The gift of time and God’s grace and mercy certainly have been a positive factor in the lessening of the Sunday Slump. I enjoy my faith community and am actively involved in its youth program.  Worship is an uplifting and intellectually stimulating experience. Our community welcomes everyone regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. It is a place where love reigns; it is another area in my life where people are genuinely happy to see you.

Some of you may be asking, well this is only one part of Sunday, what about the rest of the day? As you know, my oldest son is in college (just about an hour or so away). Last spring, he requested that we make Sunday dinner. For those of you who are old enough, this was once a common cultural practice after church on Sunday-usually at a grandparent’s house. But I am sure that my son got the idea from the TV show “Bluebloods.” The final scene ends with the extended family saying grace and sharing a Sunday meal and conversation. In any case, I was happy to oblige and we were often joined by his lovely girlfriend and his brother. Well, I am happy to share that it is now a standing ritual in my house-even in the summertime! Many times, my son and his girlfriend will come down for church in the morning, help cook the meal and/or study. Sometimes they even stay overnight. My youngest, a working man himself, will often do his laundry or watch the Sunday football games. Lately, his girlfriend will drive over and join us.  I love these days; they are quiet and comforting. Just last week, the five of us had a picnic supper of pulled pork and coleslaw as we watched “The Princess Bride” (probably for the 10^th time or more). It was, after all, the 25^th anniversary and my youngest son’s girlfriend had never seen it!

Today was different, of course. I spent the afternoon outside working.  It was a perfect autumn day: sun, wind, big white/gray clouds. We didn’t have Sunday dinner due to conflicting schedules. Instead, because it was Family Weekend at my son’s college, we drove up Saturday night and had our “Sunday dinner” at a restaurant. No matter, though. My day and evening were not dominated by angst. And this is how Sundays need to be. We all have obligations tugging at our time and energy. (And for those of us in northern climes, there are now endless leaves to be raked!) Moreover, I realize that Sunday meals together will not last forever. The boys will eventually live independently and get married; I may move. Who knows? But the point is simple: Do your best on this day to bring yourself joy and satisfaction and, most of all, take time to be with those you love. The “blues” may very well disappear!

A lot of people resist transition and therefore never allow themselves to enjoy who they are. Embrace the change, no matter what it is; once you do, you can learn about the new world you’re in and take advantage of it.

~Nikki Giovanni

This morning I woke up and the temperature in my room was a bracing 56 degrees. Despite the forecast of frost for the night before, I was determined not to turn on the heat yet. October 13 seemed too early to cave in to a little bit of chill. I must admit it was slightly uncomfortable, but I knew that I was going to my Saturday hot yoga class within the next hour so I bundled up in my hoodie and made my morning coffee.

Upon returning home a few hours later, I noted that the house temperature had fallen to 53! “Oh gosh, I said to myself; I‘ll just take a hot shower, put the bathroom heat lamp on and then make a decision about turning up the temperature.” Well, dear readers, my decision was made for me when much to my surprise, I was visited by my oldest son’s girlfriend and three of their friends! They noted immediately that the house was cold and, not wanting to be rude, I obliged and turned on the thermostat! (My thanks to Jenn for helping me reprogram the one in the living area).

I suppose some of my resistance to turning on the heat is due to economics and conservation. In reality, however, it is more than that. I know what’s coming! Cold and darkness are just around the corner. Now, do not get me wrong, I love the changes in seasons. I do not mind the cold for the most part. And I love a good snowstorm because I believe it cleanses the air. But short days and long nights are awful.

I have always found the latter part of fall and early winter to be a time of anticipation; a time of waiting for something new to happen. Right now, though, this month is really a time of transition.  We are raking leaves, putting lawn furniture and hoses away, reorganizing the garage so the vehicles can be parked there during the cold and snow. We’ve taken out the window air conditioners, shut off the outside pipes and brought out the fleece blankets.

Yet, as I think about this particular month in this particular year, I am beginning to recognize that we are all going through a transition on a more personal level as well.  (I think that I have always been aware of it too. )  It was something that was simmering in the background of day to day situations for sure. And, as usual in family life, it manifested itself in a conflict. The details are not important; what is important is the fact that my sons and I were able to put into words where we were in our current stage of life and how and why we were feeling that way. My oldest son is a college senior; he is talking about and making plans for his job prospects in the spring. My youngest son returned home full time eight months ago after living (mostly) with his father for his high school years. He is an apprentice tradesman putting in his time working and going to night school in order to further his career. While I work full time, I am also busy carving my own path. I no longer need to raise my kids. I can now pay more attention to my personal and professional life, carving out more time for exercise, creativity and love. When the dust-up was settled, it was clear to all of us that our individual independence was deeply important to us.

The problem is that neither of the boys is financially independent; they need to live here for a period of time. Rents in our area are the same as a monthly mortgage payment- a challenge for any young person who is making a decent living. But how do we live together as adults without one or two of us feeling too much responsibility for the upkeep and organization of this house and yard? How do I balance my need for help with their need for privacy and independence without getting resentful? How do they practice maturity and responsibility when I leave for a weekend or for a longer vacation?

I confess that I-at times- am frustrated, impatient and even angry with the current transitional situation. I had very much gotten used to and enjoyed my own space and routine. But when my youngest needed to come back (he had been spending more and more time here anyway), I could not and would not say no. He is extremely respectful, polite and grateful. He tries his best to help and take care of things. He certainly is responsible for his own laundry (I trained them both nearly eight years ago). He pays for many of his major expenses. He tries to cook. Unfortunately, he has gaps in the practice of balancing work, home and a social life. I daresay that it comes from the “bachelor” lifestyle that his father exemplified while my son was with him. Now we need to make up for lost time without it zapping our energy and negatively affecting our relationship!

My oldest, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He has always been this way, more naturally organized, etc. He also became more keenly aware of the load that I carry with this house when I went away for 15 days this summer (my youngest was cognizant of this too and was completely overwhelmed by the daunting tasks of maintaining a home, grocery shopping and housework!). The older brother’s take charge persona conflicted with the younger brother’s more laid back attitude.

In my conversations with friends and acquaintances alike, I have noticed that all of us are currently undergoing some major shifts in our lives. My youngest son’s girlfriend recently made a significant decision regarding her education. A good friend of mine lost a job she loved and had to move. Her current living situation does not allow for her to spend any private time with her fiancé.  Plus, they have four jobs between them!  Others that I know have gotten new jobs or have recently become re-employed after a two year job search. Some are facing serious health problems with their loved ones and need to make life-altering decisions. A high school senior that I know is learning to advocate for herself in regards to her own health care as well as her future. Good friends are separating after decades together.

As I sit here and I write this today, I pray that I can embrace this transformation. I hope that the shift and the “waiting” will bring all of us enlightenment, continued patience, and a solid future where we can fully be ourselves and remain rock solid as a family.

One of the nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is that we are doing and devote our attention to eating- Luciano Pavorotti

I love food. I love to eat it.  I love to cook it.  I love to talk about it. I love feeding my friends and family.  I enjoy going to specialty food stores so I can take in the atmosphere of freshly made  organic food. I love farm stands and bakeries.  I also love shopping at my local grocery store because the prices are just right for my budget. I love trying out locally owned cafés. Their food is a passion and not a process. I do love my Starbucks too; the baristas always make my soy lattes with loyal dedication!

Food is fuel. Food is medicine. Food is a celebration. Food is love. I guess this is why I cannot understand why we as a culture treat food as an afterthought. I often wonder if we have lost the “taste” for a calm repast. I have observed people shoving food into their bodies while driving or sitting in the car. Or even standing in line! No one seems to take the time to sit and enjoy something tasty and nourishing.  And it also seems that the preparation of food is a stressful inconvenience.

I guess this has become a part of 21^st century American living, hasn’t it?  Have we lost the desire to take care of ourselves by not eating healthy snacks or preparing nutritious meals?  Why are we not allowing ourselves the time to digest a wondrous and delicious delight?  How do we feed ourselves and loved ones without breaking the bank or feeling resentful because the responsibility for meal planning is not a team effort?

Too many of us lead ridiculously busy lives that are jammed packed with “must-do” activities for our children and ourselves.  Work schedules and end of the day fatigue interfere with timely and thoughtful preparation for dinners. By then “primal hunger” has kicked in and, there we are, eating out of a bag or box while we either wait for dinner to finish cooking or the take out to be delivered!

I surely have been guilty of this myself.  Just recently, I had to eat “on the run” because my evening was filled with appointments and meetings.  And a mere two nights ago, I grabbed a wrap at a sub shop with my son so we would be on time to see a lecture by a favorite author. Now, let me tell you, both meals were delicious! The former was a turkey, bacon (oh gosh, so bad!)  and avocado whole wheat sandwich from Whole Foods.  And the second was a hot pastrami sandwich. I haven’t had the latter since 1985! It was a shame, though,  that I did not take the time to sit for a bit and enjoy the whole experience.

Feeding ourselves, friends and family needs to be a holy act- a communion.  I have warm memories of my friends inviting me for dinner at times when I was too emotionally impacted to feed myself. My spirit was fed as well as my stomach. Believe it or not, today I am feeding people at three different times for three different reasons.  This morning I got a phone call from my oldest son saying that he was in an accident.  He was a passenger in a car that was traveling on a highway. Despite the fact that the car spun around 180 degrees, it managed to hit the guardrail in the breakdown lane without involving other vehicles and without any injuries!  I quickly went to pick him up, bring him home and provide a bit of sustenance to him, his girlfriend and their friend.  My youngest son’s work as an apprentice plumber is physical labor. This week he worked long hours plus an extra day today. When he called to say he was on his way home and hungry, a warm meal was waiting for him. Tonight, a dear friend will be having dinner with me. I love to cook for her!  She spent three decades cooking for her large family and misses those times with her sons.  She and I will enjoy the company of one another while having a home cooked meal and a glass of wine.

I hope dear readers that you too will continue to partake in the joys of your next meal. Eat Well. Love Well. And Be Well.

Running is the greatest metaphor for life because you get out of it what you put into it-

Oprah Winfrey

Today my dad turns 77 and I can think of no better present than to dedicate this post to him. My father is a man of pure honesty and forthright integrity. He serves as the perfect male role model for my sons and is a beloved member of his community. As I said before, he was and always will be my best running coach. I have written a poem in two voices for him to honor his special day.  The bold words are my father’s voice and the italicized are mine.

Father and Daughter Stride by Stride

I remember putting on my first pair of running shoes at thirty-two and wondering, can I do this?

I remember you wearing a pair of beige Bermuda shorts and a white t-shirt and not looking like a runner at all, but pounding the pavement and sweating because you were working so hard

I remember feeling transformed, feeling fit, becoming more self-sufficient and confident

You were an inspiration to our family as we watched you become a better person; you were enthusiastic and charismatic

I could not have done it, however, without the support of you and most especially your mother; she was my #1 cheering section

My childhood memories are wrapped up in a large circle of friends gathering at our house for a run, some fun, and lots of delicious food and mom yelling “Come on Bennie!”

Do you remember me waking you up on those early Sunday mornings for long runs?

UGH! You used to turn on the bedroom light to wake me up! The light was as bright as a spotlight at 6 am!

But wasn’t it worth it just a little?

Well, we sure met a lot of people with a zest for life. I know that we were glad to be running with you most of the time even though we were teenagers!  I think all of us never stopped talking to each other on those long runs. We certainly laughed a lot too.

Do you remember the different places that we traveled?

The hikes in the mountains of New England were especially memorable-Mt. Washington in the cold, pouring rain and fog; Twin Mountain at the peak of fall foliage with those bright colors; crossing rivers, trying not to slip on those big, wet rocks.

Today, Kimgirl, it gives me a tremendous thrill to lace up my shoes at seventy-seven to run many miles and discuss all kinds of topics with my children and grandchildren

That makes two of us Dad

I give this to take with you. Nothing remains as it was. If you know this you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.

                                                                                      -Judith Minty

I love where I live.  It has taken me at least  two decades to come to this realization and I am glad that it is not too late. I awaken each morning to the quiet of the day and  am guaranteed an encounter with some form of wildlife as I head out for my early morning run.  When I wake up, I love to look out my bedroom window at my vast backyard that bends towards the deep, deep woods. I often will dash outside to see the sunrise and to get a “feel” for the day.

The kitchen sink window is by far a favorite feature of mine. I call it my “perch” for a few reasons. It allowed me to observe my sons playing when they were little and to also keep a close eye on the fire pit antics during their teenage years. It’s a great place to view fireflies in the summer, wild lightning storms during hot, humid days and windy blizzards in the winter. I especially appreciate the refreshing breeze that comes in even on the hottest days of the year.

My appreciation has deepened recently and for reasons that would appear to be paradoxical.  This summer I engaged in my first independent home improvement project!  Usually, home repairs are nothing if not a pain in the neck. At times- in fact, I am having one right now- it is an emergency plumbing situation that leaves you no choice but to buck up and take care of it. This is when I dislike owning a home for sure.

The toughest part of deciding on a renovation is the fiscal investment. For me, money is always tight, tight, tight; I have no second income as back up. Like everyone else, I have the mortgage and college educational expenses that eat up a good chunk of my salary.  As a result, it has taken me years to finally bite the bullet and get something done.  In many ways, I believe that my decision was based on faith alone!

The other piece that makes a renovation difficult is deciding on whom to hire. As a single woman, I fear getting ripped off because of my gender as well as my lack of knowledge. I spent a good amount of time asking around before I decided to hire my handyman.

Anyway, I finally made the decision to repair my decrepit mudroom. The floor was in tough structural shape after it had suffered what was probably years of water damage. Only an expert could fix it. Once I knew that my room was on solid ground, I began the process of picking out paint and flooring. This, my friends, was the best part! Colors, that in the past, I would never I have chosen adorn the walls and floor. It looks so good that I want to sleep in it!  When you enter my home, you immediately get a feeling of comfort, warmth and welcome.

The mudroom is at the back of the house and serves as its main entry. Since we had limited access to it for a bit, the boys had to enter through the front. My old home has a farmer’s porch that is severely underused as it was a reminder of a time when I very sad. I would go there to cry.  When the crying was done, I avoided the porch as much as possible. One day my youngest son called to me, saying, “Hey, we should really clean this up and paint that ceiling white!”
We set to work and in less than a week, the porch is well on its way to renewal. When I sat down during a break from excavating  the moss and mildew, I began to feel a sense of peace and a clearing away of all the sorrow that I had once felt.

So despite the current plumbing glitch, I remain solid in my continued commitment to this place and space . I look forward to the  darkness of this humid night, watching the bats fly about in search of their nightly feast and  falling asleep to the hum of the crickets.