Live Long and Prosper

As 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.

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 Michelson galleries 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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Shortly after the "Lazy Day" video 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.

This girl can

I 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.

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?

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.

Then my sister in law posted a link to this on facebook:

Yep.

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."

My friend agreed.  That young woman is my hero and she will probably never know that.

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.

An Open Letter to Runners World

Dear Dave Willey,

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.

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.

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.

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.

I was wrong.

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.

They certainly inspire, but that's not everyone and sometimes we normal folks need a voice too.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Today I don't feel so inspired, I just feel sad.  Perhaps a run will change my mood.

Thoughts About Losing NaNoWriMo for the First Time

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.

Don't get me wrong, life has happened before, but I still managed to make my goal.

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.

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:

A solid beginning: The hook needs some work, but it's a solid beginning.

Tell the story bit by bit: 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.

I used juicy describing words/I showed, not told the story: 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.

An ending that wraps it all up: 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.

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.

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?).

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.

Turducken: a Cautionary Tale OR Why Backing Up Your Computer is Necessary

I had a little black MacBook and I loved it true and well.

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.

I never really understood until my first NaNoWriMo in 2009.

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.

Click, click, click.

Like the ticking sound of the death watch beetle in Practical Magic, it was the sound foreshadowing the death of my hard drive.

A moment later all went blank.

"Noooooooo," I wailed, the plaintive cry shook the house with a chilling terror.

My husband ran into the room to find me in an overstuffed chair, a sobbing mess.

"My.... my... hard drive," I choked out between sobs, "it's gone.   It died."

He gave me that patient husband look and, like most MIT types, immediately went to the practical.

"Do you have Apple Care?"

"Yes," I sniffed.

"Did you back it up?"

"Last night, but that's not the point," I whined.

"Make an appointment at the Apple store will you."

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."

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.

One of my colleagues saw me and jovially greeted me, "What are you doing here on your day off?"

The damn broke and my tears began to flow like a small river down my face.

"My hard drive failed," I choked out.

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.

"It will be OK," they all told me, "you know you're in the best hands here."

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.

"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."

I held up the non-woven shopping bag containing the two hard drives.

"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."

For the first time in over an hour, I felt air rush into my lungs as I took my first real deep breath.

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.

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.

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.

The clicking of the death watch beetle comes quickly and strikes without warning.  You have been warned, be prepared or be devastated.

It's your choice.

Sunday Morning Worship

After spending 24 hours moving through out the Boston area writing, we ended at the UU Church of Medford 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.

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.

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.

The universe smiled on us, and we smiled back.

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."

Morning Coffee... a poem

(for Miles)

We talk every morning,

The steam curling up from the coffee cup

As we ask the big questions of each other

Between sips

Between spaces in time

Between moments of breath

Between time

                     And space

                                   And distance.

Two friends bound in silence

Tied together with words

In between sips

In between moments of breath

As the coffee warms our hands and we 

Look into

             Each other’s space

                                      Each other’s eyes

Treasuring our friendship

As we measure our lives in our morning coffee.