tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14215629832991577582024-03-13T07:30:27.868-07:00What do Pikas write about?These are stories and things that I need to write about.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-78082595386033755352016-07-07T12:31:00.000-07:002016-07-07T12:31:24.491-07:00Swimming I stood on the side of the pool looking through the clear blue water at the painted cement bottom. Little ripples played across the surface inviting me in.<br />
But I knew better. I knew the water was chilly in spite of its clear color and siren's call.<br />
First the toe, quickly retreating from the new ripples it started. Again and then again and again before taking a deep breath and lowering my body in.<br />
With a shiver, I take a deep breath and dunking my head under the water and adjusting to the temperature. I shake my head, take another breath and push of the wall. Smooth, long strokes across the length of the pool. Past the water walkers, past the water aerobics ladies, all the way to the other side. Touch and back down the pool again. Five, ten laps later, it's time to change it up. High knees to the chest, leaping like a gazelle out of the water as I strengthen my hips. Up, up, up, up - 37 steps from one end to the other. Turning, I take 37 more and 37 more and 37 more until I have leapt across 10 lengths of the pool.<br />
Back and forth for 30 minutes.<br />
As I swim and step, I see a hawk circling. I wonder if he spots me and thinks, "I could feast for a year on that." He spirals around again and again before flying off to find something more immediate. I see him dive in the distance. Perhaps he saw a small rodent, perhaps a small dog. He's too far away for me to tell and he doesn't come back up with the object of his attention. <br />
From beyond the fence, I hear the distinct ping of a baseball off an aluminum bat from the little league camp just beyond the pool in the back part of the park. Back across the pool towards the bath house. I can feel my muscles strengthen as I go.<br />
Looking up at the clock, I see it's time to go before the children flood into the locker rooms and beyond. Bidding farewell to the solitude of the pool, I pull on my cover up and leave. I'll be back tomorrow, to swim and leap all over again.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-1253065490619860892015-11-25T02:31:00.000-08:002015-11-25T02:31:32.216-08:00The joy of playIt is a constant battlecry these days: kids aren't resilient enough. There are all sorts of cautions against helicopter parents, rising anxiety rates and kids not being able to cope with life, the universe and everything. Me, I work with kids and hear all the cautions and concerns but lately I've been watching something that gives me great joy: kids just playing.<br />
<br />
Every morning I start my day on the playground watching kids before school. There is often at least one kid who brings or finds a soccer ball and it begins. It starts with kids breaking into sides on their own and the game begins. There are no boundaries - the whole field above and beyond the two goals is fair ground and as more kids show up, they naturally break onto the teams to keep things even. With no refs, no adults, no rule book, the sides ebb and flow with the number of kids who show up or wander off. <br />
<br />
Disputes happen and get solved. Sometimes not that well but, more often than not, with an incredible sense of fairness and justice that only kids really understand. It ends when the whistle blows announcing to kids it's time to end things and line up.<br />
<br />
Another game I have been watching is one I introduced from my childhood called "Fox and Geese."<br />
<br />
When I was a kid, we had a tag game we played in the snow. We'd all stomp out a huge circle with an X in the middle. The fox had to stick to the X only but the geese had the run of the whole board. If you got tagged by the fox, you became the fox and the fox became a goose. Variants included you became an additional fox or you were out. Most schools today have various things painted on the blacktop and we have 4 square boards. As the 4 square games became more and more complicated to the point of most of recess being taken up by agreeing on the cornucopia of rules for each session, the level of frustration among kids was visible.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago, I introduced "Fox and Geese" on one of the 4 square board as an alternative game. I laid out the basic and let the kids take it from there. The younger kids tend to switch off where the tagged goose becomes a fox. The older kids changed the name of the game to "Alien Invasion" and have incorporated all sorts of rules that include "so long as you can keep one foot on the cross lines, you can tag someone so long as you can reach them. <br />
<br />
More importantly, I watch older kids play with little kids and listen to them laugh.<br />
<br />
It reminds me this is what play looks like when adults just let kids be kids. They make up games and rules and find a way to get beyond the grown up "everyone's a winner" attitude to avoid hurt feelings. The truth is sometimes you lose, sometimes your feelings get hurt and, almost all the time, you have a lot of fun or find something else to do that lets you have fun.<br />
<br />
So yeah, put me down as someone who wants to say just let kids play. It's amazing what they can learn when adults get out of the way.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-67478809595136232802015-11-18T14:56:00.004-08:002015-11-18T14:57:24.023-08:00Feeding The Lions<div class="p1">
They circle around me.</div>
<div class="p1">
Slowly, stealthily the move with </div>
<div class="p1">
Deliberate motion.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Feed me meNOW," they cry</div>
<div class="p1">
Spiraling in closer</div>
<div class="p1">
closer</div>
<div class="p1">
Until finally they brush against my legs.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
One in the front, one in the back, with </div>
<div class="p1">
Plaintive meows of the starving.</div>
<div class="p1">
"Feed me, it's been nine whole hours,"</div>
<div class="p1">
they complain.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
The kibble crunches in the bowl and</div>
<div class="p1">
I pivot to feed them, but two little bodies</div>
<div class="p1">
Attached to two little heads block my path.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Is that for me?" they cry.</div>
<div class="p1">
"I have your breakfast,' I sing.</div>
<div class="p1">
I make up the words to song tunes and</div>
<div class="p1">
I feel as if it pleases them, </div>
<div class="p1">
so I keep singing.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Time to feed my lions and make them purr.</div>
<div class="p1">
Time to feed my lions and stroke their fur.</div>
<div class="p1">
They like their crunchings.</div>
<div class="p1">
They like their munchings.</div>
<div class="p1">
Time to fee my lions and make them purr.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
A quick rub agains my legs tells me</div>
<div class="p1">
they are pleased with their song and they part</div>
<div class="p1">
like Moses parting the Red Sea</div>
<div class="p1">
and let me place their food in their spot</div>
<div class="p1">
as they turn back into </div>
<div class="p1">
my gray stripey Maine Coon cat and</div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
his furry purry ball of love black cat brother.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
The lions are gone...</div>
<div class="p1">
for now.</div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-74003050698627829912015-11-14T08:05:00.002-08:002015-11-14T08:05:34.148-08:00Buffering....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk29d7YRFFdMtrrcJ0xP8R_PyLKSTA5iLMt2fa8sjmP9ISsgtHaRhPlF2mAjUleihH-1wwp8WZbpupYv_GSENbVg6JIYOMA_RcE5HWXTTOMsGQ0g4ZU1M9r2b1bU3lkgMOag_iTYqBh2g/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk29d7YRFFdMtrrcJ0xP8R_PyLKSTA5iLMt2fa8sjmP9ISsgtHaRhPlF2mAjUleihH-1wwp8WZbpupYv_GSENbVg6JIYOMA_RcE5HWXTTOMsGQ0g4ZU1M9r2b1bU3lkgMOag_iTYqBh2g/s200/imgres.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
When the Tsarnaev brothers decided to attack the Boston Marathon, my world was literally shaken. I still carry deep emotional scars that may never heal from that day and a boatload of guilt because I was not in Copley Square. I was 8 miles away finishing packing up the Mile 18 water stop.<br />
<br />
But still, the marathon is such an integral piece of me in ways I really can't fathom, I carry that burden as part of me.<br />
<br />
So many things since then. So many bombs and attacks - both organized and disorganized and I struggle daily to process each new event as it comes.<br />
<br />
Why is it people are so upset over a coffee cup when there is real persecution in the world? Why do people declare false wars on what it means to be <insert some belief here> instead of fighting real wars of hatred and intolerance. <br />
<br />
Each time I ask myself the same question: Why?<br />
<br />
Each time I realize the same answer: No one really knows.<br />
<br />
I continue to process but I feel like my emotions are constantly buffering like a computer that has exceeded its bandwidth. What can be shelved? What can be deleted? What can integrated into the system?<br />
<br />
In the end, the only thing I can do is keep being. Keep trying to be the light in the darkness hoping others also follow that choice. That they keep being a light in the darkness because maybe, just maybe, if we all keep choosing to be the light, the shadows will grow smaller and the light will grow stronger and the attacks will become less frequent. So the next time any of us think dark thoughts ("It's <i>their</i> fault..." "<i>They</i> are trying to oppress <i>me</i>...." and so on), turn it around. Ask yourself if there is a better way to respond. <br />
<br />
It's not easy. I've been trying for two and a half years now. There are days when it is easier than others, but I continue to try.<br />
<br />
So I will spend some time <a href="http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Affiliate/Little-Hats-Big-Hearts_UCM_470829_SubHomePage.jsp" target="_blank">knitting hats</a> for babies today. I encourage you to do something to be part of the light as well.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-8165662786221181942015-11-01T07:41:00.000-08:002015-11-01T07:43:06.080-08:00November<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-uiI_j316l5w9j5FPEXhFsqFg_8Mr8xR2KBYY5xrcTeU7cj8ipKCfBTiFihUM0UBjyslEfLOL29s-OPXB2owCdoEsVAgC6DZQRpTRkIF82G78haDAZugIWWeOLi85yR-0b89KSDKzgQ/s1600/12143360_10207898459962231_4697819006184917675_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-uiI_j316l5w9j5FPEXhFsqFg_8Mr8xR2KBYY5xrcTeU7cj8ipKCfBTiFihUM0UBjyslEfLOL29s-OPXB2owCdoEsVAgC6DZQRpTRkIF82G78haDAZugIWWeOLi85yR-0b89KSDKzgQ/s320/12143360_10207898459962231_4697819006184917675_n-1.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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It is a new month full of adventures. I have already written a couple of hundred words on my new NaNo project and will soon get ready to go to my first official write in of the season. Like my friends Boar and Bunny, a new month awaits that is both a little scary and a lot exciting and sure to be fun.</div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-35687405249097820452015-10-31T17:35:00.000-07:002015-10-31T17:35:11.376-07:00Mr. Toad's Wild Ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1X19AoJSlATirVRGq8G4UMU_MqI2MY2y3aj_sWPjxPzpx9Y_mxK8TdW9Erb_3FqECy6ytwSfeQXaWu3WEOWAxjy3cD6YU64eKZBMhQ5DnhAK5ht_i31yvbK3iT7xUUVatE7BkcEFgHP0/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1X19AoJSlATirVRGq8G4UMU_MqI2MY2y3aj_sWPjxPzpx9Y_mxK8TdW9Erb_3FqECy6ytwSfeQXaWu3WEOWAxjy3cD6YU64eKZBMhQ5DnhAK5ht_i31yvbK3iT7xUUVatE7BkcEFgHP0/s200/imgres.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
It's time for another NaNoWriMo, so time to do some writing.<br />
<br />
But yesterday I had a moment with one of my fourth graders. She has been struggling with writing. She says "I need help..." an awful lot and keeps fighting to come up with transitions and capturing thoughts. It has been a frustrating process for her.<br />
<br />
She brought in her writer's notebook from 3rd grade to show me. It's a standard composition book that she covered with family photos and inside were writing assignments and stories she wrote the previous year. She looked at me with sad eyes and said, "See, I used to write a lot. Why is it so hard now?"<br />
<br />
It was clear she was in pain over this. I looked at her and said, "You know I was a professional writer and wrote a weekly column for seven years. There were times when it was easy and weeks where I struggled hard to come up with an idea and everything I wrote sounded lame or cliche. That's part of being a writer. Sometimes it's just flows as if it will never end and sometimes it feels like you could never put two words together. That's sort of the way of writing."<br />
<br />
"Really?"<br />
<br />
"Really."<br />
<br />
She smiled and I gave her back her journal. I pulled out mine and showed it to her. I showed her that sometimes I make lists, sometimes I write, sometimes I outline and sometimes I draw pictures. I reminded her that what makes a writer is not so much writing when it's easy but more of sticking with it when no words will come.<br />
<br />
It was one of the few days in recent memory where she was able to focus on her work.<br />
<br />
As I approach wrimo this year, I need to remember my own advice: being a writer is when you stick with it when no words will come, particularly when you're staring at hitting your daily deadline.<br />
<br />pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-9757232470576910852015-10-13T03:04:00.004-07:002015-10-13T03:04:46.128-07:00Finish Stronger?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GlTs6Mx4D0RLXRw1uwBukTwKUZbfXeyRmuhxk0qo-UfNcuRMSLOSFEavacvKdgA6DJ9mPuEtZD1JXjw8vLFAtP6dpL42yPRfnyq_QQMfmc5aljPWfXTGxgX7nY-EXzypLITmcAlOMxQ/s1600/CRIpX9QWgAAoxmj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GlTs6Mx4D0RLXRw1uwBukTwKUZbfXeyRmuhxk0qo-UfNcuRMSLOSFEavacvKdgA6DJ9mPuEtZD1JXjw8vLFAtP6dpL42yPRfnyq_QQMfmc5aljPWfXTGxgX7nY-EXzypLITmcAlOMxQ/s200/CRIpX9QWgAAoxmj.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
The motto of the Tufts 10k is: Start strong, finish stronger.<br />
<br />
I don't know about stronger, but finish I did. My first mile was great. I knew I'd have to run/walk the race and the first two miles I settled into run 5 minutes/walk 5 minutes quite comfortably. I hit problems at mile 2 starting with an asthma attack.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm usually OK with just walking through an attack after using my inhaler. It's nothing new and I expected it a bit. What I didn't expect was the one thing that complicated it at the water stop a quarter mile later. I grabbed my water and tossed it down - bad move. It went down the wrong way and I ended up having a pretty significant coughing fit. Grabbing a second cup after that, I knew I'd need to walk a while more. I got to the point where Memorial Drive goes under Mass Ave and started running down the ramp only to have my lungs say, "Hey now what do you think you're doing?"<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPk3ZYYPrVnY8RQK3TLqPQnI32OzR3FEsGqARDDNUuKLPZKb-S10q6PULEaZu_TXDS_wFe-JOu3gOrWe04OieO9CIHEt7SGzwfi4mY9CbDkhBZTQR3LiCFr8Ztx1se8sPgiibN9akTww/s1600/12075024_10207788525493938_1831303846741824999_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPk3ZYYPrVnY8RQK3TLqPQnI32OzR3FEsGqARDDNUuKLPZKb-S10q6PULEaZu_TXDS_wFe-JOu3gOrWe04OieO9CIHEt7SGzwfi4mY9CbDkhBZTQR3LiCFr8Ztx1se8sPgiibN9akTww/s200/12075024_10207788525493938_1831303846741824999_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>So I walked to Mile 3 and tried a jog with the same results. I realized at that point, the rest of the race would be pushing a walking pace to the finish. That was also the point I realized I was dehydrated as well. It was hotter that usual and I had purposely laid off water before the race so I wouldn't need a pit stop figuring I'd make it up at water stops. My fingers were swelling up, so I would raise them over my head and shake, take two cups of water at stops and just keep moving. At Mile 5, a bunch of volunteers from Berkley School of Music were at the water stop dressed in tuxedos and offering cups of water on plastic bin covers doubling as trays. A lovely laugh and touch in that "seriously, another whole mile to go?!" point. It was just what I needed at that point.<br />
<br />
I came down the street between the Public Garden and the Common with my eye on the "Finish" banner. I had walked probably 5 of the 6.2 miles and I had made it. My official time was 1:46, and I'll take it. It was a "bad" race as these things goes but a good one in that I faced my fear and did it.<br />
<br />
Now I can make a plan to run. I guess I'll become an afternoon runner as I leave so early for work that running in the early morning dark may not really work for me. But I can and will run so next year I can finish stronger.<br />
<br />
<br />pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-50682126212944880212015-10-12T04:24:00.000-07:002015-10-12T04:24:09.548-07:00Start strong?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkD_NlBvsugGKjTbNtsTW9s06aQE0BgpeJGwZqsUUWMkU3XluEL8azkHwb1bF_Aapbb7e8YuXT69N_A93xbpmyw8785j8mY4YKDISJmDRbVDnv_a581UOsPCJUsOS0lqL0Dd1DtUj1iTs/s1600/choons_sm14_choonicorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkD_NlBvsugGKjTbNtsTW9s06aQE0BgpeJGwZqsUUWMkU3XluEL8azkHwb1bF_Aapbb7e8YuXT69N_A93xbpmyw8785j8mY4YKDISJmDRbVDnv_a581UOsPCJUsOS0lqL0Dd1DtUj1iTs/s200/choons_sm14_choonicorn.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZYj-8Qio7hI3DqTX1B4ELj2H9w4F00-kNz_KqkPIP4s1NvUnFhL9JhFw1o_RK4cjnJX0dgTg970yQiw2eYqBNS3hsDFyp9cplnyTyP6i9CIopenkBmWJ-W8i-qV6T6hvaLBEectqN8o/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZYj-8Qio7hI3DqTX1B4ELj2H9w4F00-kNz_KqkPIP4s1NvUnFhL9JhFw1o_RK4cjnJX0dgTg970yQiw2eYqBNS3hsDFyp9cplnyTyP6i9CIopenkBmWJ-W8i-qV6T6hvaLBEectqN8o/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a>Today is the Tufts 10k. <br />
<br />
If you are out there and see a woman struggling along wearing either of these shirts, as I haven't decided which one yet, shout out a little encouragement. I could probably use it.<br />
<br />
I haven't run since August due to an aggravated C8/T1 nerve where the neck meets the spine that left me curled up in pain and whimpering. I have been in physical therapy since the beginning of September to deal with this and it's finally subsided to a point where I have been cleared to run and have gone out for "runs" (read: walks where I occasionally burst into a canter and then settle back into a walk).<br />
<br />
The past few days I have waffled about doing this but it comes down to this: I'm scared. I'm scared of being hurt or injured again. I'm scared that I can't do this anymore and if I can't do this, then what do I do? I'm scared of so many things including being the last person across as they break down the finish line. Which is why I need to do this.<br />
<br />
There will be no support crew for me. No Pi holding up a "Run for the cookie" sign at the finish for me. No husband filming me crossing the finish line (even though I always ask him NOT to film it, just snap photos because no woman wants to see herself jiggling like a bowl of jello). No running buddies or friends.<br />
<br />
Just me.<br />
<br />
It's all so scary, but it's important that I do this. To face my fears and remind myself that, even if I walk the whole way, that I am capable of doing this and so much more.<br />
<br />
Today is a day to "start strong, finish stronger" according to the Tufts 10k motto. I don't know about starting strong, but I know when I finish I will at least feel stronger.<br />
<br />
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-51737244156889250572015-07-27T10:02:00.001-07:002015-07-27T10:02:40.240-07:00Rhythm Romance With My Shoes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcXYTzpeJ-VWY8CrxUAdD2WR09zQCs3wIl8baEg0OyOKt_hD84UU1KUTaF2UrHjzIcRDOkngW1ivsuWpfNcfz53jznSsNn_HcztzyzIejFWZ-dcJlSvapWiRSmI4g8wEVcib1Vh3nMAg/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcXYTzpeJ-VWY8CrxUAdD2WR09zQCs3wIl8baEg0OyOKt_hD84UU1KUTaF2UrHjzIcRDOkngW1ivsuWpfNcfz53jznSsNn_HcztzyzIejFWZ-dcJlSvapWiRSmI4g8wEVcib1Vh3nMAg/s200/imgres.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite running shoe. Thank you nice<br />
person at Brooks who sent them to me after<br />
the Trance knocked me out of commission.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A serious ankle roll as a result of last winter's phenomenal amount of snow fall in Boston left me sidelined for far too long this year.<br />
<br />
About four weeks ago, I began running again. I've been enjoying going out for my run/walks (.25 miles run/.25 miles walk/repeat) and my pace is finally starting to pick up a little. Four miles is starting to become comfortable again. I'm finding new spots along area rivers to explore. It has been an enjoyable cycle this time through. Even in Ohio last week running along the marshes of Lake Erie near Sandusky was enjoyable (except for when I ran down a hiking trail and through a spider web that had me squeal and shriek like a 5 year old).<br />
<br />
Today's run started with an old Nils Lofgren song "I Came to Dance" from the disco era. It's one of the few from that time period that I still remember and love. It's a song about an artist and his manager arguing about commercial viability vs artistic integrity. The artist declares he's having a "rhythm romance with my shoes" as all he wants to do is make music that makes people dance.<br />
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That's how it felt today, I was having a rhythm romance with my shoes. Moving in time with a nostalgic playlist from that around that era, to the sound of the coach on the launch yelling to the rowers through his bullhorn, to the movement of the cars and other runners. Today was definitely about rhythm.<br />
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It wasn't an easy run but it was an enjoyable one and that's all I ask for these days, to enjoy my running. If all goes as plan, I should be running the Tufts 10k in October this year. After that I want to stay in at least 10k shape with a regular 7 mile run. Until then, when I'm out running I will remind myself that I came to run as I continue my rhythm romance with my shoes.<br />
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If you don't remember the song (or weren't around for when it came out) here's a reminder:<br />
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<br />pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-9842605185182500122015-07-03T16:20:00.001-07:002015-07-03T16:20:08.750-07:00Camp NanoWrimo Day Three: On the RoadLast week Bunny worked up the courage to go on an adventure with Boar. This is the beginning of the adventure.<br />
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">On The Road</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I’ve never been on a ferry before, is it scary?” Bunny asked nervously. He tried to wriggle down into the bag a little more.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“You’ll enjoy it,” Boar said with a smile, “besides, I promise I won’t leave your side. It will be fun.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">The whistle blew and Bunny shuddered.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Do you want me to tell you about having a cappuccino in Milan again?”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I think that would make me feel better,” Bunny whispered. “It makes me feel better to know I’m with an experienced traveler like you.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Stick with me kid and you’ll be fine. So here I was in Milan, sitting on the table in a cafe...” he began. Bunny closed his eyes and listened to Boar’s tale of strong coffee and sweet pastries before boarding a train in Italy.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny could smell the salt in the air and the rhythm of the boat was beginning to lull him to sleep a bit. Snuggling up to Boar he felt a little less timid. He woke up when he felt a gentle nuzzle on his ear.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Open your eyes and take a look.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny saw the most amazing thing, In front of them was nothing like water. A bit of foam formed a line across the water, much the way he imagined lane markers in a pool would mark the shallow from the deep end. Here, the ocean was saying, “You’re entering the deep end. You must be on a boat this big to cross this line safely.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">The boat powered through the line past a pair of rocking buoys. On one side of the boat, Bunny could see the outline of the shore. Sail boats skipped across the choppy waves in the bright sunlight and hearty breeze. Greedy birds wheeled around in the air above them, circling slowly looking for food and crying out for a little attention in hopes someone would take pity on them and toss a morsel to them. The steady thrum of the engines drove the boat forward in the water towards a far point barely visible in the distance.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I like the wind in my ears,” Bunny admitted.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“It’s a good day to be at sea,” Boar responded. “If it’s too much, let me know and we’ll sit inside for a little bit. The sun may feel a bit hot and there’s no shame in taking shelter.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny angled his face into the wind and let out a happy sigh. He felt free sitting on the railing with Boar a bit back from the nose of the ferry. </span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I’m ready to go in Boar,” Bunny said finally when the sun began to feel a bit too warm on his face.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">With a silent nod, Boar lead the way where they sat on a table while the woman sipped from her water bottle and drew in her book. </span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I hope you’re enjoying the ferry Bunny,” she smiled before she went back to her drawing. </span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Looking over Bunny noticed she had drawn a sketch of him and Boar together. He liked the smile on his face. He noticed Boar was in a slightly defensive stance, shielding Bunny.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Are you enjoying the trip so far?” Boar asked him.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I am,” Bunny murmured, “traveling with a friend makes all the difference.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Boar smiled to himself.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Good, then you should be good if we stop for lunch after we reach the shore. I bet our humans can find a good salad for us.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny nodded. It wasn’t long before he heard the whistle blow again and he felt himself scooped up and put back in their bag with the sketch books and things. Once they were in the car, he took them out and put them on dashboard with the car bears. The car bears were a group of four bears: Always, Eggy, the Pirate Captain and Bruce. Bruce was a small tan bear with a heart in his hands, the Pirate Captain had an eye patch and big black pirate hate. Always was the largest, he was about the same size as Boar and carried a red rose. Eggy was small, like Bunny, and he was nestled safely in </span>Always’ arms. </div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny noticed there was a small window, just the right size for him so he could feel safe while enjoying the view outside pass by.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Eggy and Bunny spent a long time talking together as they were both a bit timid.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Sometimes the Pirate Captain has a drop too much rum,” Eggy whispered conspiratorially to Bunny. “When that happens, he gets a bit gruff but otherwise he’s a perfectly splendid bear to travel with in the car. Bruce can get a bit emotional. Always is my best friend. He keeps me safe.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Boar is my best friend and he keeps me company so I won’t be so scared all the time.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“It’s nice to have a friend like that, isn’t it.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Perhaps we can travel together too for a little bit?”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“I would like that.”</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Bunny looked back out the window at the big houses and green lawns as they traveled along the road. It wasn’t long before they stopped and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would be scooped up and put into the bag with Boar.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Don’t you want to come Eggy?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“We’re good in the car. Don’t worry. This your adventure Bunny, not mine.”</span></div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-74710706653833186232015-07-02T18:36:00.000-07:002015-07-02T18:36:33.604-07:00Camp NanoWrimo Day Two: Bunny<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I know I"m going to be writing and illustrating a number of stories about Bunny and Boar (with occasional visits from Mike and others). But I wanted to figure out who Bunny was and I realized that he is actually very shy. Last week he and Boar came to New York with me because he had always wanted to go on an adventure but was too scared. Boar helped him be a little bolder as they rode the ferry, visited the Cloisters and, later, Manhattan.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This is more of a getting to know Bunny as a character study than a story really. But it is another 780 words in the books (so to speak).</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">Bunny</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bunny sat in the tin bucket with all the other small animals. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He was a shy creature by nature, so whenever someone came by to look through the bucket at the stuffed animals, they tended to go for the bolder animals. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The pigs with wings - sold out. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The big bunnies with a little carrot sewn to their paws. Flying out of the bucket like there was no tomorrow. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The ducks with squeakers inside. Gone.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Then there were the hand puppets. They were soft and cuddly and could hold a full conversation with someone and then snuggle up like a stuffed animal. The best of both worlds. They took longer to sell as they were a bit pricey.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Some of the animals left with men, some left with woman. Most left with children in various states of behavior. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Some children were screaming, “But I WANT it!!!” and a tired adult sighing with a “Whatever,” response. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Some of the children were quiet and had an animal forced on them by an adult.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It didn’t matter as he watched as the other animals disappeared one by one while he just moved deeper down into the tin bucket wondering if anyone would ever want a shy, yellow bunny.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Then he felt a hand on him. The man who grabbed him put his nose up against a woman’s nose. She had kind eyes.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Hello,” the man said, “wouldn’t you like to take home a bunny.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“It’s a yellow bunny,” she replied. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny liked her smile.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You know you can’t ask me if I want to take home a bunny and then not let me take him home.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Not me Lord,” he said with a long exasperated sigh, “the woman you gave me.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Yeah! I have a bunny! I have a yellow bunny!” she exclaimed.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He enjoyed riding around with the vegetables and fruit as they moved up and down the aisles. Every so often she would smile and talk to him before putting him back to add something else to the cart. </span>At the check out she looked at him.</div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You’re going to come home with me and meet Boar and Mike. They need a someone to play with when I’m at work.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny began to worry. He was, after all, a timid bunny. The other animals had pretty much ignored him in the bucket, even the other bunnies. He wasn’t sure about how other animals would receive him.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At home he met Boar. Boar was a bit bigger than him. He was tough and had two tusks that pointed in slightly different directions. Mike was a red dragon with golden wings, about the same size as Boar.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Who are you?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Now Boar, don’t be a boor!” Mike said as Bunny joined them on the table.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Boar looked at Mike.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Pardon me,” he said sarcastically, “might I inquire as to who you are?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny trembled a little.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You poor thing, don’t be frightened. I’m Michael and I normally live in the car. I like feeling the wind against my wings and going to new places. Boar may look and act a bit gruff, but he’s really rather nice once you get to know him.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Harumph.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Mike laughed.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“So who are you little one?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Bunny.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Well Bunny, why are you here?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I don’t know. I’m kind of... well, you know... I’m a bit shy really.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Boar laughed. It was a hearty, friendly laugh.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“If you are here, then that means she saw something special in you. I am Boar. She found me in Tuscany. Boars are hunted there, I don’t know why as we are actually rather nice critters. No one wanted me because my tusks aren’t even. That’s why she wanted me to come home with her, because she said they gave me character.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny looked at Mike questioningly.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“So why am I here you wonder? Correct?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny nodded.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I suppose lots of reasons. There are many thing that aren’t quite perfect on me. Mostly because I am a car dragon. I help protect her as she drives around, but sometimes I like to come inside and play because it can get a bit lonely out there. I like Tek, he’s a good car but, well, he is a car. He is full of good stories about his travels. He has been to a lot of places and has many stories to tell. Sometimes he prefers talking to the other cars when we’re parked in a lot, and forgets I’m there. I think I hate those moments the most.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">They sat in silence for a moment. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“What’s your story?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I don’t have a good story. I’m just a little bunny. All the other animals found homes long before me and now I’m here. But I’m really just too little for most everything.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You’re just the right size,” Mike smiled, “to be a friend.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bunny began to relax.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Boar snuffled. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“It will be good to have someone when Mike is in the car. It can get a bit lonely in here too.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The three sat together for a moment.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“So this is what it feels like,” Bunny said.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Feels like what?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Why wanted of course,” Bunny replied.</span></div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-45106264972726691972015-07-01T11:07:00.003-07:002015-07-01T11:07:38.875-07:00Camp NanoWrimo Day OneI wanted to write a series of short stories for Camp NanoWrimo during July, so I started just doing a bit of a brain dump to get writing. I got 1500 words in when I realized I set a 1,000 word goal, not the 1600+ goal of November. I guess that means I can slack a little on a day that feels a bit stressed.<br />
<br />
Thoughts on a New York State of Mind<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After all the rain on Saturday and early fog on Sunday, Monday dawned bright and cheery. Preparing for a day in Manhattan was a careful process: what comfy shoes could I wear that looked “normal?” Which bag(s) could I carry that didn’t scream tourist? Should I wear normal headphones or my Pinkie Pie over the ear don’t f with me headphones? How do I figure out where I’m going without looking like I’m lost or a tourist?</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In other words, how do I look like I belong so that I blend into the background?</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The day started with me boarding the Long Island Rail Road at the Syosset stop to head into the city. The train was about half full of mostly commuters. Hipsters dressed in suits that still screamed, “I’m unique like everyone else dammit!” but still looking like they were wearing the grown up clothes mom bought for them for family events. Then came the corporate types in their serious clothing. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">There was the scattered set of tourists and ladies who lunch types as well. Me, I was styling my jeans and middle aged fat girl “slenderizing” tunic top, NaNo Messenger bag and the don’t F with me Pinkie Pie headphones. Sitting next to a hipster on the train with the largest cup of Dunkies I could get my hands on, I kicked back and relaxed. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Of equal importance, my soundtrack for the day. Bec</span>ause of my mood, I started with Reel Big Fish’s “Hiding in my Headphones,” and hit the “radio” button to get the ska mix going that would be my underlying soundtrack.</div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Hipster boy looked up from his tablet long enough to see the headphones and go back to his electronic version of New York Newsday and I caught up on my email and social media on my phone as we rolled along. I also used that time to map my destinations. I knew I wanted to go to the Moleskine stores in NYC and just see what happened in between. The decision: start in SoHo or Columbus Circle? I was close to the end of my current notebook and needed a new one and I wasn’t sure if one would have more selection than the other. The train ride convinced me to start at Columbus Circle as they were open. Yes SoHo would be open by the time I walked there, but Columbus Circle was already open and it was at the entrance of Central Park.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As we rolled into Penn Station, I set up my map feature with walking directions so that I could discreetly find my way when Siri would pop on every so often to tell me when to turn or hold steady with no one else the wiser. As I started down 8th Avenue, I noticed a woman I dubbed, “Yoga Woman.” She was silver haired in capri length yoga pants and comfy shirt with the Gaiam bag and mat over her shoulder bustling down the street. I followed her down the street when I detoured into a Starbucks for a few minutes. As I started back down 8th, I noticed her just ahead of me still. I figured she was my guide, so I followed her almost all the way to Columbus Circle.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arriving at the Time Warner Building, I was excited to head up to the Moleskine store where I met an enthusiastic clerk. He understood that Moleskine nerds came to visit all the time. He told me if I visited the other two stores, they had different stamps and that the company was negotiating on a property to open a Boston store. We talked about paper weights, he flipped through my watercolor sketches of Boar and Bunny from the weekend and helped me pose them so I could take a picture of them stamping my book. It was a fun experience before I headed off to explore Central Park for a bit. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Sitting at the Columbus Circle fountain, I sketched Boar and Bunny looking at the water towards the park and watched a commercial being made before heading across the street. Just inside the interest was the official map to Central Park, so I figured for $2 I could have some fun. The girl pointed me towards Strawberry Fields and I figure I knew how to avoid the parts Law & Order taught me to be scared of and meandered up the path. When I found the GhostBusters building on the west side, I figured I had gone too far and chose to walk along the street instead of in the park.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At Strawberry Fields, the tourist were lined up to take photos of the Imagine circle. A lone guitarist sat on a nearby bench playing Beatles songs with a sign on his case saying, “Out of work, anything helps.” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I took Bunny and Boar out of my bag and placed them carefully on the Imagine circle (much to the dismay of many tourists in line behind me) and took their picture. I quickly scooped them up and moved to a bench - unlike many of the disgruntled tourists who were upset at me setting up my shoot. Sitting on the bench listening to the guitarist, and the next person who declared it would soon be his turn to play, I quickly sketched out the photo I just took into my notebook and moved along. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I haven’t taken a pedicab since San Diego years ago, so I figured what the hell? The driver only charged $2 a minute and I knew it would only take him a few minutes to get back to Columbus Circle, it was worth it for me. I snapped Bunny and Boar in the “safety” net (more like a map pocket) and laughed at his thickly accented lame jokes tailored for tourists. He showed me photos he took of himself with celebrities like Susan Sarandon and JLo. As we rolled into Columbus Circle, I gave him $10 and an Asian couple sat there waiting and wanted to pay him for an hour. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It’s all good. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">From there I hopped the C train down to the Village. The day before had been the Pride celebration and the Village looked like how most of the celebrants must have felt. Rainbow flags hung askew from windows and crumpled over sills or railings. The sidewalks waiting to be hosed down matched with rainbow smears of food and drink that made encore appearances after celebrating a bit too much. I carefully skirted the smears and wandered a bit past bars offering lunch choices as they aired out from the weekend and the overpriced luncheon options at the fancier places. I crossed the imaginary line into SoHo. I knew I crossed it because it was as if an imaginary “rainbow free zone” sign were hung at the border and the boutique shops of the well heeled began to appear one after the other in neat rows. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">By now it was almost one o’clock and my stomach was making itself known. Stopping into a little lunch place, I grabbed a Proscuitto and talegia sandwich with a strawberry-rhubarb jam that was actually rather tasty. I was able to plug my phone in and recharge the battery and took a picture of Boar and Bunny with the oversized Linzer cookie (there’s always room for cookies).</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It was time to move on and I found the SoHo Moleskine store. The two clerks in there were equally as pleasant and understood the nerd factor. They had some of the collectible notebooks that the Time Warner small store didn’t have. Bunny and Boar played with the stamps. Bunny loved the “I’m a traveller” stamp because, this adventure story was all about Bunny climbing out of his shy place to be more adventurous with Boar’s bolder temperament to guide him. Boar chose the West Broadway and Spring Street stamp because he was more about being in SoHo than traveling in the moment.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At least, that’s what their story will be about.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I spoke with the clerks about my paper issues. I showed them how my fountain pen now bled through the paper and why that sort of pissed me off. We looked at how my watercolors would shadow through a page as well. The best they could offer was that Moleskine had adopted an environmentally friendlier acid-free paper. The result was perhaps it was a bit lighter as a result. I selected a couple of limited edition notebooks, an Alice in Wonderland and a Hello Kitty, even though neither had a gridded option. I decided that Alice would be good for my summer notebook. I did a little holiday shopping while I was there too.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Looking at my watch, it was time to say good bye to New York and grab the C train back to Penn Station and wait for the Acela back to Boston.</span></div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-56634290845970773722015-05-10T03:49:00.002-07:002015-05-10T03:49:53.385-07:00What about dinner tonight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiCgqkzVOF7Eht4MQ8u1v3rlYDcOtp2sxIVrMy7xcBE8EH3-q4PXiNxdbN3-1m-kS9tmC2ixVcgLJEeH62qpsbceujtrtJLSChRQcwPOPcDLrrGEeiTQGkE9FvcWYsIQCJKbaJodZ4Z8/s1600/1977423_10203532020083963_1548544805_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiCgqkzVOF7Eht4MQ8u1v3rlYDcOtp2sxIVrMy7xcBE8EH3-q4PXiNxdbN3-1m-kS9tmC2ixVcgLJEeH62qpsbceujtrtJLSChRQcwPOPcDLrrGEeiTQGkE9FvcWYsIQCJKbaJodZ4Z8/s320/1977423_10203532020083963_1548544805_n.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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For 67 years she asked,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"What about dinner tonight?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rarely were they apart </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it was always, "What about dinner?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then he was gone... forever</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Over a year later, sitting in her wheelchair, she asks,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"When are you bringing him by?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then she shakes her head,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
aware of the nursing home</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
aware he is gone</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
aware the questions are answered.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She blinks. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She knows he is gone but then asks,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"What about dinner tonight?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to the empty space beyond my shoulder.</div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-30067341174273180242015-04-09T03:48:00.002-07:002015-04-09T03:54:02.899-07:00Boston Strong two years later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJC8Zic-rLJvxFQF7hIaqQipt_kUUiH_mDfsVB4n8Chk4pnVhNbBpSfP8Q9Ry2xLacQCyMUrl4mtLJJGvVI1oSEpc62pslUwgpXNBLVo78c-0voUX9n5Rs-k1suKxSwePpspbwZ8eno84/s1600/13128_10153239872489445_5260425070951977616_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJC8Zic-rLJvxFQF7hIaqQipt_kUUiH_mDfsVB4n8Chk4pnVhNbBpSfP8Q9Ry2xLacQCyMUrl4mtLJJGvVI1oSEpc62pslUwgpXNBLVo78c-0voUX9n5Rs-k1suKxSwePpspbwZ8eno84/s1600/13128_10153239872489445_5260425070951977616_n.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
I have deep ties to the Boston Marathon. My oldest brother has been running (almost) every year since 1979, I have friends and other family that run it, I worked the Mile 18 water stop for 5 years keeping the discarded cups from becoming a slippery carpet of ick for the "regular" runners (the people the crowds don't turn out for and look like you and me every day) and walking runners to the medical tent. I have friends that work for Marathon Sports, including one that is usually at the Boston location on Marathon Monday. I run, I belong to a running club and the Boston running community is family to me.<br />
<br />
<br />
My oldest son is runner and he was working as a free lance writer producing press releases for an agency during that dark week and listening to information on scanners the general public does not have access to or knowledge of until the trial and maybe never. (He will not discuss what he heard nor the agency for whom he was working, he took the NDA <i>very</i> seriously.) My middle boy worked Mile 18 with me and has worked for a timing company at local races for a while. My youngest boy was deeply affected and remains so to this day.<br />
<br />
So yes, I have some opinions and feelings on this whole thing.<br />
<br />
It's clear that Tsarnev is guilty, even his own legal team said as much. That was never a question. The question is does he live or die? Well, we all die eventually it's just does the government give him an expiration date or not. So understand when I say toss him into the Colorado Supermax and forget about him is the worst we can do to him, but it's not the worst we can do.<br />
<br />
The worst we can do is focus on him and his loser brother. The worst we can do is make him a martyr and let him always be on our mind. The worst we can do is forget what the words "Boston Strong" really mean.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVNJcY3OCvUk7NOwJgMWsJn7co-jaRDQj0V1I6ln9oEyqk2QlXJSwpsMJTkAN-kvLacuIZLJsi9pzFMc8VLRNB6Myc0-AjUzKxth_IDHu3sX2oUlZm5Y723Ct_OJd40r_hpCuE8cNdiQ/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVNJcY3OCvUk7NOwJgMWsJn7co-jaRDQj0V1I6ln9oEyqk2QlXJSwpsMJTkAN-kvLacuIZLJsi9pzFMc8VLRNB6Myc0-AjUzKxth_IDHu3sX2oUlZm5Y723Ct_OJd40r_hpCuE8cNdiQ/s1600/imgres.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a><br />
We are emerging from the snowiest winter on record and it all came over the course of 6 weeks from mid-January through the end of February for the most part. During those storms one image went viral: a lone man shoveling off the finish line after a foot of snow fell in seemingly no time. It was done anonymously with no thought of reward or glory and captured when someone happened to look out their window and notice the action.<br />
<br />
That is the spirit of Boston Strong. <br />
<br />
It is the image of 8 year old Martin Richard holding a sign he made simply saying "No more hurting people. Peace." It's students going to UMass for a degree in business in Krystle Campbell's name. It's the people at BU keeping Lingzi Lu's name alive. It's the memorials in Sean Collyer's name in Somerville and at MIT. It's the people who lost limbs and sustained injuries who have gone on to live everyday life in an extraordinary way.<br />
<br />
It is not allowing the hate and anger to dominate, it is focusing on what is really valuable: the reality that we will not quit, we will not be defeated and our race will go on. If we give into our anger and hatred, we are not better than those two young men who one day let their negative feelings and dark desires override their humanity to place two explosive devices near the finish line and set them off.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be that angry person. I don't want to be on the same level as the Tsarnevs, I want to be the guy shoveling off the finish line. I want to be above that anger. I want to retain my humanity, particularly in the face of deciding what passes for justice on a young man who - even if just for a moment - forgot about his.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-11548384378242569942015-04-04T06:39:00.000-07:002015-04-04T06:39:24.809-07:00Hokusai at the MFA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V_2P8UgVSmJ8a5zIWLb6SKhAf-oVUvnKbZ8FudnHO54Q64Xpyhiqg2fgrLlWYOcDUnfXJMxOXGaMXOPUIliTZrjLZTWjA0Lkq0eTXyYuDmZ0F_72LkEAsi2S15kAeQ58yALxC4C0OvU/s1600/bsl_great_wave_channel_624x351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V_2P8UgVSmJ8a5zIWLb6SKhAf-oVUvnKbZ8FudnHO54Q64Xpyhiqg2fgrLlWYOcDUnfXJMxOXGaMXOPUIliTZrjLZTWjA0Lkq0eTXyYuDmZ0F_72LkEAsi2S15kAeQ58yALxC4C0OvU/s1600/bsl_great_wave_channel_624x351.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a>Yesterday I got to see a preview of the <a href="http://www.mfa.org/exhibitions/hokusai" target="_blank">Hokusai exhibit at the MFA</a> in Boston. Everyone pretty much knows "The Great Wave," as it is at least as iconic as the Mona Lisa, the Thinker and a handful of other pieces of art that are part of our collective knowledge and consciousness. <br /><br />It is part of a series called "36 Views of Mount Fuji," an amazing collection of wood cuts that have Mount Fuji visible from different perspectives and sizes. Like most amazing art, it is overwhelming and needs to viewed multiple times over a period of time. I know I will go back and spend a lot of time just sitting in the middle of the prints thinking about them.</div>
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But one particular print caught my eye:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDiNA6bxALcKRaOkNI-dedIDloine0pslrTDMd3XVRiZKfRqYlSRx8PQtcDVnw4p8gO9owai09wbu2YS_anThuv9edR77AtHxVNliU4qQuCfzoFEY23RNT0AHu5nU7KMGFTe1flyulh0/s1600/hokusai-36-views-fuji8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDiNA6bxALcKRaOkNI-dedIDloine0pslrTDMd3XVRiZKfRqYlSRx8PQtcDVnw4p8gO9owai09wbu2YS_anThuv9edR77AtHxVNliU4qQuCfzoFEY23RNT0AHu5nU7KMGFTe1flyulh0/s1600/hokusai-36-views-fuji8.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
I listened as a father explained to his son about the use of color and how it had to be printed in layers. They listened to audio tour bits, talked about where Mount Fuji was in this print versus a different print where it was barely visible. <br />
<br />
Leaning over I said, "You should show him the original Tolkien drawings from <b>The Hobbit</b> and <b>Lord of the Rings</b>."<br />
<br />
He excitedly reminded his son that they had looked at those a couple of weeks ago when they were reading The Hobbit and his son, who was maybe 8 or 9 years old nodded his head and said, "Oh yeah, I remember."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GBlLD4idHjuQca4FHZsOe94Gwy-lMl0C0k1sSs9f3DNuwVFS_hLZY1VyN652yCbVej9cs4epJgFzLaRT7ZvZ5s93Ecv3WgpIng_cJhuj8yBW5m8Nd4BJioojLj4HyfbJkv4tZKuSWTU/s1600/dee986fd2678f6e09764611364ae1a98.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GBlLD4idHjuQca4FHZsOe94Gwy-lMl0C0k1sSs9f3DNuwVFS_hLZY1VyN652yCbVej9cs4epJgFzLaRT7ZvZ5s93Ecv3WgpIng_cJhuj8yBW5m8Nd4BJioojLj4HyfbJkv4tZKuSWTU/s1600/dee986fd2678f6e09764611364ae1a98.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was an exciting moment for me as well to realize exactly how much Hokusai quietly reached into our lives.<br />
<br />
So many of his prints influenced the Art Nouveau artists, like Mucha and Beardsley. some of his demons and ghosts, a common subject in Japan but one we don't normally think of when thinking on Japanese art, can be seen in modern horror drawings, effects and designs.<br />
<br />
Even more amazing to me was learning many of his original drawings were lost in the process of making the wood blocks that produced the prints. Like nature, his drawings were temporary and timeless at the same time.<br />
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I plan to revisit the exhibit at least a few more times before it closes in August. I want to spend some time just soaking in the Mount Fuji and the waterfall series. One of the waterfalls wants to tell me a story and I know I need to sit and listen quietly as it tells me. <br />
<br />
One thing I need to do is find out the MFA's restrictions on thing like a folding stool and such. I see people there with easels and sketch books and such. So I want to make sure I don't run afoul of things as I sit there with my blank book and write.<br />
<br />
Speaking of short exhibits - the <a href="http://www.mfa.org/exhibitions/inside-the-box-massachusetts-state-house-time-capsule" target="_blank">time capsule</a> from the State House is there as well. It was pretty cool to see the stuff that has been tucked away for hundreds of years. It's only there for a couple of more weeks (until 4/22), so definitely check it out if you can. No telling how much longer it will be until you can see it again. pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-36374341714726672932015-02-28T10:48:00.001-08:002015-02-28T10:48:18.055-08:00Live Long and ProsperAs a nerd and Bostonian, I guess I can't help but post my thoughts on the passing of a great man, Leonard Nimoy. The thing is, while he was my favorite character on Star Trek (followed by Sulu, Scotty and Checkov - something about those odd ethnic men), my real thoughts start with his artistic eye.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3RSjIBztBviLqCSGVigYpW8elQwtCOqejIiud64uJ7H4BPDaRAaeh4DZAIOHV8XZ8_4mjuxkFuEDRJl6FGq6cAbQGR75aAUk1rDPQ4gvxOQQjDt-Mn74iPExMFBUx-rFRFgZ0P9wTrM/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3RSjIBztBviLqCSGVigYpW8elQwtCOqejIiud64uJ7H4BPDaRAaeh4DZAIOHV8XZ8_4mjuxkFuEDRJl6FGq6cAbQGR75aAUk1rDPQ4gvxOQQjDt-Mn74iPExMFBUx-rFRFgZ0P9wTrM/s1600/imgres.jpg" /></a></div>
It feels like a million years ago (but is really around a decade or so back), we went out to Amherst to look at schools with the kids. I really wanted to check out a little art gallery in the area called <a href="http://www.rmichelson.com/Artist_Pages/Nimoy/pages/Shekhina.html" target="_blank">Michelson galleries </a>as they had a series of photos by Nimoy called "Maximum Beauty," which was the beginning of his Whole Body Project, challenging how we view beauty and bodies.<br />
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There was a small collection of photos and I spent a lot of time talking the gallery owner, Rich Michelson, about how he convinced his friend to start to display and collect the photos into a book one day. Over the years as I would go out to visit the Eric Carle Museum, I would often spend time at Michelson Galleries for a variety of reasons often related to events or artists found at the Carle. One time, my son and I drove out to check out the series of Shekinah photos Nimoy did, looking at our Creator in a feminine form. The black and white photos are incredibly moving. Sometimes she is fully concealed from view by a filmy scarf. Sometimes she is fully revealed in her nude form and sometimes she's a bit of both; a true reflection of how I feel about my Creator and myself.<br />
<br />
I kept thinking I should pick up a signed copy of the book and never got around to it. I'm sure Rich will sell out today, if he didn't yesterday. I will pick up an unsigned copy eventually, the photos are rich and moving and a level of beauty that will always bring me back to spending the better part of an hour just standing in front of the totally concealed image thinking about life, the universe and everything.<br />
<br />
The other thing I will always associate with Nimoy, even though he had little to nothing to do with it, was the "Mr. Spock Gun." The Rayline Tracer Gun was an awesome toy as a kid and not because of the Star Trek connection, even if that's what sold it. It was awesome because the tracer disks were the same size and thickness as a dime. So if you really wanted to get into an epic Mr. Spock gun war, you loaded that sucker up with dimes and did some damage!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAtTMZlfehRSLTuIHYTrZF-4kGbXbuoHoYEa2wLJ7UHVM_vgrJRLBpQ7XEQtZOz8IyQ5Uq5fczIlo0GcTs_QyzxOiZuWFkqtFGeoPD2CO7tahlf-bjmQYNchNK-i9IOBmbgpAajCb8e4/s1600/raylineinset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAtTMZlfehRSLTuIHYTrZF-4kGbXbuoHoYEa2wLJ7UHVM_vgrJRLBpQ7XEQtZOz8IyQ5Uq5fczIlo0GcTs_QyzxOiZuWFkqtFGeoPD2CO7tahlf-bjmQYNchNK-i9IOBmbgpAajCb8e4/s1600/raylineinset.jpg" height="108" width="200" /></a></div>
The toy was pulled from the market and redesigned so it wouldn't take pocket change anymore and just rereleased as a tracer gun. In college, all the members of the Cryptic Citadel, our insanely fun nerd household in college, had our own Mr. Spock guns (there was no other name for them really) and personalized them. You didn't go ANYWHERE in the apartment without one by your side because you never knew when someone would yell, "INCOMING," and you'd get pelted.<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly it took maybe 10 years and half a dozen moves before I stopped finding the little disks in places I never expected - my Norton anthologies, art supplies, you name it. Those suckers were everywhere and I kind of miss finding them.<br />
<br />
Leonard Nimoy offered me a lifetime of joy and deep thought. I admit that a few years ago I had an idea for a story about Jews in baseball about an upper middle class kid in Brookline or Newton without a lot of grounding bonding with a (great)grandfather over Kevin Youkilis and Hank Greenberg. It would look at the old West End and the journey of the immigrant in this country. I had Nimoy in mind as the (great)grandfather helping this child understand the concept of having roots, not just wings.<br />
<br />
Shortly after the "Lazy Day" <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dULOjT9GYdQ" target="_blank">video</a> came out, so did the news of the COPD diagnosis. I remember thinking every day he was with us would be a gift. It was, and I wish it could have lasted longer.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-33015288651154896292015-02-02T05:55:00.001-08:002015-02-02T05:57:11.735-08:00This girl canI often write about the stigma of being a fat chick. Clothes either make me feel like I'm stuffed in a sausage casing or I'm wearing styles created by Omar the tent maker (as my dad used to say). It's not like I sit around all day either, even if there are days when I do that. I run, I ride my bike, I go to the gym and work with a trainer, I walk and, in short, I am an active woman.<br />
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But that doesn't mean people will restrain themselves from their views on "what's wrong" with me. If I only gave up this food or worked a little harder or whatever. I have had intelligent women make comments to me, often starting with, "Don't take this the wrong way...." before they thank me for be a "real sized woman" who is a good role model. What the hell is a "real sized woman" any way? Seriously?<br />
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I often tell the story of two 20-something waif-like chippies in the locker room loudly opining I should be embarrassed to be seen at the gym because I was so old and fat. (I stuck my head out from around the corner and reminded them I was fat, not deaf, to their dismay.) It's something women like me face on a regular basis. I realize that fat people aren't naturally jolly, we develop a sense of humor to deal with ignorant twits we run into all the time.<br />
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Then my sister in law posted a link to this on facebook:<br />
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Last summer a friend and I were out and we saw a young woman who was easily a "plus sized" woman. She was wearing a tight tank top and short shorts and she was laughing and happy and confident. I sighed and said, "I wish I had her confidence to dress like that."</div>
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My friend agreed. That young woman is my hero and she will probably never know that.</div>
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I do make an effort to eat healthy, ice cream will always be my Achilles heel and I will probably shed some weight only so I can start running a faster mile. But the truth is, the next time someone judges me, it will be a struggle to remember that I'm OK as I am. But this girl can, and does, all the time.</div>
<br />pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-62522207943238045492014-11-29T08:13:00.000-08:002014-11-29T11:25:50.874-08:00An Open Letter to Runners World<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEM9FBCAVRLX7qXQBX_qRSruBix7ghGf_iavuIK7AlORCY26aDeKX1So2AzswGP6sfzO9BSxhLtSmIHTqaSgG3gjrXS7DLkU5BN3FKKu2iHc7Fxfo5EwPGvtowj8FLzbn3AXSnoCJr5g/s1600/10256965_10152230131166775_8782800832385079229_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEM9FBCAVRLX7qXQBX_qRSruBix7ghGf_iavuIK7AlORCY26aDeKX1So2AzswGP6sfzO9BSxhLtSmIHTqaSgG3gjrXS7DLkU5BN3FKKu2iHc7Fxfo5EwPGvtowj8FLzbn3AXSnoCJr5g/s1600/10256965_10152230131166775_8782800832385079229_n.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>Dear Dave Willey,<br />
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I hate to resort to open letters; however, Runner's World Magazine doesn't make it easy to find a letter to the editor address and I have a serious bone to pick with you.<br />
<br />
That's a photo my husband took of me crossing the 10k finish line at the RW Heartbreak Hill 10k. I had run the 5k a bit earlier and I was one of the last folks to cross the 10k finish line and it was a major accomplishment on more levels than you can imagine.<br />
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See, I am what is politely referred to as a "real sized" woman. That means I am fat but in our world of manners and political correctness, no one wants to say that to my face.<br />
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I entered the cover of the Runner's World Magazine contest but realized quickly I didn't have a chance for three reasons: my social network isn't immense; I didn't have a truly inspirational story, just a normal one; and I'm fat. I tried, so it goes and I'm OK with that, but I had hope the editors would actually go through the entries and read the essays and maybe, for once, pick someone that looked out of place on the cover so that folks like me didn't feel ignored.<br />
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I was wrong.<br />
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Can you imagine the amount of pain and hurt by going with yet another "I lost a zillion pounds through running" story rather than just one "I don't care that I'm fat and run and screw people who laugh at me" person? I mean no offense to Michele Elberston's achievement of shedding 250+ pounds or any one else's achievements featured in the December 2014 Runner's World. There are always those that face adversity and pull victory from the jaws of defeat. <br />
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They certainly inspire, but that's not everyone and sometimes we normal folks need a voice too. <br />
<br />
You guys asked applicants to answer the question: "What is running important to you?" I wrote that whenever I think of quitting I think of a student who hugged and thanked me for showing her you don't have to look like an athlete to be athletic. In a world where girls are constantly told they are too fat - whether it's the First Lady taking on childhood obesity and nutrition or Abecrombie and Fitch's CEO saying that he doesn't want "fat girls" wearing his clothing line, only the cool kids - it's important that someone can inspire girls who will never look like chiseled athletes because it's just not their body type.<br />
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To understand why it was so important to see someone who looks like me on the cover comes back to prejudice and judgement I have received via the running community. I was told by the head of one athletic gear company, "When you lose weight dear..." when I asked for a longer length running skirt to cover my generous ... um ... assets. Trying to find a comfortable running bra that holds me in place so I don't give myself two black eyes when I'm running (please, I'm not a mystical Inuit woman giving Homer Simpson directions back to Springfield) or a long enough shirt to cover my midsection without having to go to the men's section of the store. Many race directors don't think twice about the folks in the back of the pack, which is why I am loyal to those who make sure every last runner (or walker) is supported the whole race and stay until they have crossed the finish line.<br />
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There are all sorts of people like me out there in the gyms, on the tracks and on the roads and yet we are invisible, mocked and constantly discouraged because we don't look the part. Once again, we are the kids who don't belong in someone's little club and it hurts even more as an adult. I guess we never get used to that feeling of rejection. You had a chance to change that with your cover and you didn't.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, this isn't about did I win or lose. This is me being upset that you didn't think outside the box. You went with what is expected and, as a result, you missed the point, and a large portion of the population, entirely.<br />
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See I love running. Hell I write haiku while I'm running and a magazine cover won't change that, but it might have changed it for someone else. Your job is defined by Rodale Press's mission statement: We inspire and enable people to improve their lives and the world around them.<br />
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Today I don't feel so inspired, I just feel sad. Perhaps a run will change my mood.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-72377895984757414282014-11-28T03:00:00.000-08:002014-11-28T03:00:08.825-08:00Thoughts About Losing NaNoWriMo for the First Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am, most likely, not going to "win" Nano this year, that is, I am not going to hit 50k words. I have come close to goal several times this month only to fall behind and fall behind and fall behind again as something called life happened.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, life has happened before, but I still managed to make my goal.<br />
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Last year I almost didn't make it. My first semester of grad school and working, there were a bunch of other things happening but I pulled it out (mostly by quoting a lot of song lyrics). This year I was catching up and feeling like I could make it but too many things going on between my mom's most recent hospital stay this week, final semester of grad school, work, prep for my "take over" week and the fact my story ended.... just like that.<br />
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But there's where I didn't fail at Nano - I have a solid story this year. One I can commit to revising and editing and working with others to produce something worth shopping with a bit of work. Not the bare bones of a story or a story that, with a large pair of scissors and a ton of work might have something to it. I have a very real, solid bit of writing that has all the elements I tell my students they need when they write:<br />
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<b>A solid beginning: </b>The hook needs some work, but it's a solid beginning.<br />
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<b>Tell the story bit by bit: </b>The story unfolds the way it should. It doesn't hit the "and something here" point or the "I did more telling than showing because I didn't know what else to do..." point. It unfolds the way it should.<br />
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<b>I used juicy describing words/I showed, not told the story: </b>I reread a random passage and saw that it was the balance between telling the story and overtelling/undertelling the story. I'm good with that.<br />
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<b>An ending that wraps it all up: </b>The ending is a good ending. OK, it's a bit of a Star Wars style ending of everyone standing there smiling into the camera, but it's the type of ending that matches the story and is good.<br />
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It's only about 20k words. I have just over 12k of side stories that are related to but separate from my main story. It means I need to write 18k words in 4 days. I could do it. I could find a way to incorporate a beleaguered elementary school teacher writing lesson plans and include the lesson plans I've been writing all month for work and my classes - which puts me WAY over the 50k mark. Who knows, I may do that still because I just hate the idea of not making the 50k when I know I've been writing like there's no tomorrow. But I know that I will not have won in the spirit of everything. <br />
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So I guess I'm saying, yes I can hit 50k but it won't be a novel and I'm only beginning to process it all. I'll be OK with all this in a bit. I know I have some incredible scenes (c'mon, a crow with an eating disorder as the side kick to a very bad ass squirrel - how can it not have incredible scenes?). <br />
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But today I sit here knowing that even if I hit the word count, I am not a winner this year and I can live with that.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-59644668091582099032014-11-23T04:31:00.001-08:002014-11-23T04:31:11.608-08:00Turducken: a Cautionary Tale OR Why Backing Up Your Computer is Necessary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had a little black MacBook and I loved it true and well.<br />
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I am married to an MIT alum that helped build the internet (back in the day when it was just time sharing). I worked in high-tech for years. I worked at an Apple Store, so if there is one thing I understood it was backing up.<br />
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I never really understood until my first NaNoWriMo in 2009.<br />
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After weeks of furious writing, I hit the 30,000 word point and the end was in sight. I was so excited that my story was rolling along and spent a Saturday morning watching the Food Network and watching Paula Deen talk about how to make a turducken. (It's where you stuff a chicken, then stuff a duck with the stuffed chicken and then stuff a turkey with the stuffed chicken that is now stuffed in the duck so that you have a turkey stuffed with a duck, a chicken and stuffing.) I was 1,500 words into incorporating the turducken into my story when I heard it.<br />
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Click, click, click.<br />
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Like the ticking sound of the death watch beetle in <i>Practical Magic</i>, it was the sound foreshadowing the death of my hard drive.<br />
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A moment later all went blank.<br />
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"Noooooooo," I wailed, the plaintive cry shook the house with a chilling terror.<br />
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My husband ran into the room to find me in an overstuffed chair, a sobbing mess.<br />
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"My.... my... hard drive," I choked out between sobs, "it's gone. It died."<br />
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He gave me that patient husband look and, like most MIT types, immediately went to the practical.<br />
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"Do you have Apple Care?"<br />
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"Yes," I sniffed.<br />
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"Did you back it up?"<br />
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"Last night, but that's not the point," I whined.<br />
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"Make an appointment at the Apple store will you."<br />
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I sighed and, using my husband's computer, went online to take the first available genius bar appointment available. It said, "Hard drive click of death.... 1500 words about Turducken lost. Help me Obiwan Kenobi, you're my only hope."<br />
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Then, with great care, I dutiful packed up my redundant back ups system of two external hard drives and little black MacBook and drove into Chestnut Hill. The store was packed, as most Apple stores are on a Saturday. I found a corner back by the accessories, MacBook clutched to my chest and tears welling in the back of my eyes.<br />
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One of my colleagues saw me and jovially greeted me, "What are you doing here on your day off?"<br />
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The damn broke and my tears began to flow like a small river down my face.<br />
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"My hard drive failed," I choked out.<br />
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Suddenly I felt a pair of strong arms around me. And then another and another and another as my co-workers and friends encased me in a group hug. <br />
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"It will be OK," they all told me, "you know you're in the best hands here."<br />
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My tears stopped and I began to breathe. Jason, one of our lead genii, came over with a box of tissues and gently took my MacBook from me and tried to turn it on. He poked at it and made a concerned face. He double checked something on his screen and smiled.<br />
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"The bad news is you need a new hard drive. The good news is we have one in stock and it's covered by AppleCare. But this is the hard part, did you back it up."<br />
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I held up the non-woven shopping bag containing the two hard drives.<br />
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"Good girl," he smiled. "We'll have this back up and running again in a few hours. I'll pop in a new hard drive and restore from your back up drive. It will be ready around 6pm tonight."<br />
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For the first time in over an hour, I felt air rush into my lungs as I took my first real deep breath.<br />
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When I returned to pick up my baby, I found that one of my external drives had failed and needed to be replaced. I immediately purchased a portable external drive that I could carry with me when needed.<br />
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I still use a redundancy back up because I still live by the motto from the early days of high-tech: save as often as you want to redo your work, back up as often as you're willing to lose your work.<br />
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That cold November Saturday morning, I lost 1,500 words about Turducken. It was fresh enough to jot down and retype that evening. Had I lost the 30k words to that point... and everything else... it would have been a disaster.<br />
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The clicking of the death watch beetle comes quickly and strikes without warning. You have been warned, be prepared or be devastated. <br />
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It's your choice.<br />
<br />pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-41661089832462725082014-11-16T11:25:00.002-08:002014-11-16T11:25:40.547-08:00Sunday Morning Worship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After spending 24 hours moving through out the Boston area writing, we ended at the <a href="http://uumedford.org/" target="_blank">UU Church of Medford</a> for the overnight session. When the day was over, I walked into the sanctuary to deposit our contributions to the Interfaith Food Pantry into the collection basket and looked up at the window.<br />
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Watching the sun coming up and shining through that window was a beautiful moment. I called in my fellow writers and we stood there, about a dozen or so of us, in the silence just watching. Then we heard the piano from the next room. One of our intrepid band had been itching to play all night long but didn't want to sleep the handful of people who had crashed or taking a cat nap.<br />
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So we stood there, beautiful music in the background, the sun shining through the window and a moment where serenity and peace just washed over us at the end of a day of camaraderie, merriment, work and creativity. <br />
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The universe smiled on us, and we smiled back.<br />
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It struck me: this is what worship is about. It's not about constructs, it's not about rituals or ceremonies. It's about people connecting with each other and the universe. It reminded me of the words said each Sunday at the end of service in that church: "Our worship is over and our service now begins."pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-68330898700093919552014-11-15T04:41:00.004-08:002014-11-15T04:41:45.881-08:00Morning Coffee... a poem<div class="p1">
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(for Miles)</div>
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We talk every morning,</div>
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The steam curling up from the coffee cup</div>
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As we ask the big questions of each other</div>
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Between sips</div>
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Between spaces in time</div>
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Between moments of breath</div>
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Between time</div>
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And space</div>
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And distance.</div>
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Two friends bound in silence</div>
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Tied together with words</div>
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In between sips</div>
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In between moments of breath</div>
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As the coffee warms our hands and we </div>
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Look into</div>
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Treasuring our friendship</div>
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As we measure our lives in our morning coffee.</div>
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pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-19705069986553217912014-11-10T03:48:00.000-08:002014-11-10T03:48:34.252-08:00A squirrel with planReally, is there anything more dangerous?<br />
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Actually, this whole thing has taken an odd twist and it looks like Bob is about to take on a large flock of starlings. Why is it that my books always take these odd turns?<br />
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“This is our town now. I suggest you get your furry rodent butts out of here and find someplace new to live. We own this town.”</div>
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“Yeah,” chirped a couple of smaller birds behind the tough guy.</div>
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Bob summed them up. He remembered his father telling him once that bullies are weak without their chorus. You can’t always beat them but you should never give into them.</div>
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“Do you know who I am?” Bob asked casually.</div>
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The small starlings twittered in laughter when all of a sudden the big bird took a close look.</div>
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“You’re that squirrel that took on the raccoons aren’t you?”</div>
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“I am.”</div>
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“You think you’re going to take us on do you?”</div>
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“Let’s just say I’m very protective of my dray. I’m giving you a chance. Stay on the Starbucks side of the block and you can have the whole commercial area, but if you try to cross to the parking lot and beyond, I will unleash a fury of hell’s fire on you.”</div>
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The starlings laughed.</div>
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“Yuck it up now. You won’t be laughing when a polar bear with a chain saw shows up to cut down your habitat or maybe it will just be a monkey with an axe. No matter what it is, it will be ugly. It will be violent and it will make you sorry you ever pissed me off.”</div>
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“Good luck to you and the Boston Red Sox buddy.”</div>
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“The name is Bob and I don’t need luck.”</div>
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He turned around casually and slowly walked away. He could hear the laughter change from mocking to nervous. He had shaken them and the gauntlet had been thrown down.</div>
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Now all he needed was a plan.</div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-37988780334707531572014-11-09T12:21:00.001-08:002014-11-09T12:21:19.678-08:00What I've been working onIt's another fine NaNoWriMo and I'm behind much earlier than normal this year. But that's OK as I've been busy finishing up a ton of stuff. This year's a story about Bob the Squirrel, the product of genetically modified parents and broken out of a Harvard graduate student lab. Bob's adventures have taken the lead and, here is one from yesterday where we meet his friend Nate the crow with an eating disorder. Bob now has a girlfriend (Macy) and he has to get the special treat his human friend, Diana, left out for him to Macy without Nate eating it.<br />
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Nate was hungry again.</div>
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This was not unusual as Nate was always hungry.</div>
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That he could put away so much food without exploding was both fascinating and repulsive at the same time.</div>
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“I’m Italian,” he often said. “My grandparents came over on a luxury liner from the Old Country. It’s a genetic thing, I’m pretty sure of it. You should see my cousins and uncles. I’m a light weight compared to them.”</div>
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Bob didn’t know about the whole “it’s genetic” thing. It seemed to be an excuse humans and other intelligent animals often used to explain bad habits. On the other hand, he was smarter than the bulk of the squirrel population as the offspring of genetically modified set of parents. Perhaps there was something to the whole “it’s genetic” thing but it was like a tasty tidbit that had soured. The type of thing that you knew, under normal circumstances, was an amazing bit of treasured food and yet, there was that off odor or color and you knew it wasn’t quite right and yet you had to try it to be sure.</div>
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That to him seemed to sum up that excuse… or statement… or observation.</div>
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Bob also knew that, so long as Nate was in scavenger mode, he had zero to slim chances of getting Macy’s hazelnuts home to her. He wouldn’t make it a step or two before Nate pounced on the delicate and tasty treats and toss them down without a second thought to savor or cherish them as they should be. Macy loved hazelnuts and he loved Macy, he needed to get these to her as she was probably the only creature alive for whom he would give up hazelnuts.</div>
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That meant Bob needed a plan and he needed one quick.</div>
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Since Nate would naturally eat anything, the question became how could he divert his attention for the handful of minutes he needed to make it across the yard and up the tree trunk?</div>
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“Nate.”</div>
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“How’s it going?” He looked up from pecking at the boards on Diana’s deck to see if maybe there was an old bit of something stuck there. “Do you think Diana left something, anything out? I can smell something but can’t quite find or place it. Maybe it’s from breakfast yesterday. I keep checking but… well, I can’t find anything.”</div>
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“Not that I’ve been able to see, but I heard a rumor the house on the corner restocked their bird feeder from one of the dogs walking by earlier.”</div>
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Nate patted his distended belly under his black feathers. “Found it already.”</div>
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“Did you check the yogurt place down the block?”</div>
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“I haven’t been there all summer. A flock of aggressive starlings moved into the ivy on the wall over on the side of the bank. Alone a starling’s not too bad but a flock…” his voice trailed off as he shuddered. “A pack will peck you like no one’s business. It doesn’t matter how hungry I am, I’m not crossing into starling territory.”</div>
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Bob tried to think but all he could think of was Macy’s soft fur and the little white tufts behind her ears. It was adorable how she sat on her haunches and moved her froth paws in time to whatever Diana was listening to when she was out on the deck. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn there were some genetic modification in Macy to as she didn’t act like other squirrels. She was smarter.</div>
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“It was trash day yesterday, so no compost pails today,” Nate’s sad statement cut through Bob’s day dream.</div>
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“That’s it!” Bob jumped up and ran up along the gutters to the front corner of the house’s roof. He scanned the street and spied something as Nate landed gracefully next to him. Bob was always surprised at how, in spite of his size, Nate could elegantly lift off and land. One would think a bird that size would struggle over his leaner counter parts.</div>
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“Look,” Bob pointed up the street. “They put their stuff out late yesterday and they’re waiting for the second chance truck. I bet their compost bin is still out too. If not, I’ve heard chatter that the berry bushes have taken over and are still producing some late raspberries. They’re too sour for the humans there, but they should be just about right for you.”</div>
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“Bob you’re a genius, but you knew that all ready. Thanks buddy. I’ll catch up with you later.”</div>
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“Better later than sooner, Macy’s waiting for me.” He gave Nate a wink.</div>
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“Gotcha. I’m off.”</div>
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He lifted off again and circled overhead once before flying up the hill. Bob waited until Nate was on his way and wasted no time scurrying back to the deck. He opened the little box Diana had started to use to hide special treats for him and he was rewarded with a bag of hazelnuts. Carefully taking the bag in his mouth, he ran across the yard reaching the old oak tree in no time. Quickly climbing up the trunk to his den, he entered just as Macy was starting to stir. He dropped the nuts by her and smiled.</div>
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“Breakfast, my dear, is served.”</div>
pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1421562983299157758.post-72254555377554333432014-11-05T19:49:00.001-08:002014-11-05T19:49:39.248-08:00A different view on the worldTonight I was speaking with my professor after class and I mentioned that I went to St. A's back when 90% of the women there were nursing majors and I was a Lit major.<br />
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He laughed and said, "You were breaking ground, a pioneer."<br />
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I had never thought of myself that way. I had seen myself as an outsider, someone who didn't fit in. But his words made me realize I was born to stand out. It was a different perspective I needed to hear. It makes me wonder how many of us forget that other perspective.pikahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12791036878877751451noreply@blogger.com0