When Pigs Fly

I recall with a certain clarity all the times Monkers has said to me, ”I can’t run”. I can also recall with similar clarity, the times I responded “If I can do it, ANYONE can”.

I’m not sure I remember when she decided to give it a try, but now you might as well call her Forrest Gump. The weekend before last, she completed her fist Marathon. This wasn’t just any marathon; it was the Flying Pig Marathon, which is known for its un-relenting, gravity-defying, ankle-breaking inclines.

Despite the downpour, the whole family was there to cheer her on. I mean if she can RUN in the rain, the least we can do is endure STANDIND in it.

As with all things, my family took on the challenge of supporting our runner with all the gusto we posses. We were adorned with custom “Run Meg Run” t-shirts, purple helium balloons and one pink pig-shaped balloon. There were signs, route maps and caravans.



It was a true family adventure, meeting up at our designated spot at 6:00 AM. OK maybe 6:30 is a more accurate report. We parked, shared some coffee under the ONE umbrella, handed out balloons and departed to mile marker 5. We fought the rain for the first 10 minutes. The rain won, and we resigned to be wet, but enthusiastic.



We almost missed her at mile marker 5, but she saw us. She ran through the racers to give Jack a hug, and we all shared an explosion of screaming and cheering. That got the adrenaline going. The group was off to mile marker 11.

I’ll leave out the part about getting lost and looking for a bathroom... We arrived at the next point in time to meet up with an even bigger group of Monker supporters. After about 15 mins we see her again - two more minutes of screaming, cheering and excitement. It was beginning to feel like a scavenger hunt, the payoff being the quick burst of excitement each time we saw her.



We were off to mile marker 21, but not before consulting the map AND finding a proper bathroom (more proper than the side of I-71 that is A-hem).

We made it to the next location quickly, which ment a longer wait for the payoff. Lucklily we positioned ourselves under an overpass so we could stay relatively dry. By this point my feet were buckets of water, my jeans had sucking the moisture up to my knees.

We waited. We saw her. We cheered, giddy with excitement.


We moved on to the finish line.


I wish I could say I have an amazing picture of her crossing the finish line, but there were too many people milling about.
SHE DID IT. SHE WAS AMAZING, Come to find out, she had a hurt ankle to boot.
We all went back to her house (that had been readily decorated with aforementioned purple balloons) and celebrated.
So proud of you Monkers!
It all inspires me to get back into running – if I can find the time.

One Expensive Gift Basket

It is one month shy of Shi-shi’s 5th year with me (Shi-shi, the Mitsubishi that is). I never really liked shi-shi much. It was probably all due to the series of tragic events that occurred, resulting in my needing to buy a new car.

But still, my issues aside, she kept me safe, warm and mobile for many years, through many seasons and road trips. Even Sammy couldn’t break her.
Last night as I transferred 5 years worth of junk from her trunk to the trunk of my new yet-to-be-named vehicle, I felt a little sadness.

Only a little sadness though. I stepped back and admired my new vehicle, the moonlight reflecting on the black exterior, the warmth of the buttery leather seats inviting me in, the pride of the deal I secured….I think angels broke into song at that moment.

As I started to leave, the salesmen handed me a gift basket as a thank you. Right there with that little gift, he just put the cherry on top of my happiness, named my blog post, and put the final nail in shi-shi’s coffin.

Stess...

I'm sure you've noticed my absence. I've been overwhelmed with the flood of emails asking if I'm ok, people desparately missing my witty prose, looking for a littlebit of humor each day. Ok, not so much. I might get a passing comment from a family member but the rest of you...Well, not really sure there is a 'rest of you'. Anyways, I've been busy. I actually billed 70 hours last week. That was 70 hours from Sunday to Friday. After doing my time sheet, I realized why my body feels like someone dragged me through the mud and threw me against a wall.

I've also discovered that when I don't have time to go the gym to release stress, my alternative outlet has been in the kitchen. Sunday nights have been the only time I can find, which works out perfectly to prepare for calendar shattering week ahead. I will asses the fridge and pantry, head to the store if needed, and start cooking.

My base of recipes is limited, especially in comparison to the culinary talent that is embedded in most every cell of my family tree. I am on another branch. Honestly, its not really about the end result. Husband is pretty easy to please. And because I grew from the same culinary seed, I'm not burning or ruining too many things. Instead, it's the mindless multitasking, getting my hands dirty, making a mess and ultimately ending up with a finished product.

It probably has something to do with control. It usually does with me. All day long, I'm running in cicles, not controlling the fact that there is no satisfactory resolution.

Either way, you can bet that there is a direct corelation between Husbands waistline and my work environment.

To Do:

Sometimes I notice how clearly I am like my mother. Other times, I’m my father’s daughter through and through.

As hectic as my life has been lately, made apparent by the lack of blog posts, there is one thing that keeps me sane. I know this thing, weather nature or nurture, came from my Father.

I make lists.

Making a list is my lame attempt to lasso all the ever-changing aspects of my life and pin them down in one place, so I don’t have them spinning in my brain.
I used to make many different lists, see the list below:
• To do’s at work
• To do’s at home
• Grocery Lists
• Cleaning Lists
• Gift lists – birthday, Christmas or other.

As of late, nothing in my life even exists unless it is on paper. I’ve been so busy lately that I can’t keep a single thought in my head. Husband will tell me we need something at the grocery, but before he even finishes his sentence, I blurt out “add it to the list.”In this frazzled state, I can’t even been counted on to remember what he said by the time I’ve got pen to paper.

The smartest thing I’ve done recently is to consolidate the many lists to one notebook. This notebook is mostly my work notebook, but in the back section I keep a running tally of all the personal things I can’t get to because of the preceding work lists.

Currently this ‘personal’ section of my list reads as follows:
• Stamps
• Laundry
• Clean house
• Yard-clean up
• Fix bathroom light
• Go to the grocery
• Workout! (there really is an exclamation mark)
• City taxes

Some of the items above even have sub-lists, like cleaning the house and grocery lists. Somewhere lost in my mess of loose paper’s exists a list with deck stripping and staining supplies to get at Lowes. I can only remember this because it was written down. If I can’t find the list, chances are the deck will not get repaired this summer. Notice how working out falls only above city taxes. Oh and fixing the bathroom light has been on one list or another for over a year. Need to get serious about that one.

All in all, I thank my mom for my ambition, and my dad for the skill to keep that ambition organized.

Littlebit Throwback

So last week I had a birthday three decades in the making. After seeing so many of my friends duped into surprise parties I decided to circumvent the situation by planning my own party.

I didn’t want to just have a regular party – I wanted to celebrate the the kid inside myself that I am determined to foster. So I decided to throw a roller-skating party, but not just any roller- skating party, an 80’s roller- skating party.

Husband and I planned to rent out the entire rink so childlike family and friends could enjoy themselves uninhibited. I knew that some people would need some encouragement, which was provided by Biscuit in the form of a Keg. Turns out everyone was as eager as myself to reclaim the days of pre-adolescent fun.

It was an awesome day. I started by going to get my hair cut. Since I was there, why not get my couife professionally styled for the evenings’ theme. So the fun began. Our laughter grew exponentially by the rate of hairspray being used. By the time I left, my hair was a height only respectable in the 80’s. It swept the roof of the car on the drive home.

I was only home an hour or so before my college roommates showed up, hands full of beer, sparkling wine and general randomness. I was so happy to have them there early so we could catch up and get ready together. By the time Padre and Momma T got there, we were in full 80’s regalia. It only took a whisper to get Momma T in on the 80’s dress. We scrounged up some clothes, caked on the makeup and through a fog of hairspray she emerged. Half of the fun is in the prep!

Once at the rink, we strapped on some skates, pulled up our leg warmers and got started. It was a great time. Padre had me a little worried at first but by the second time around the rink, he was a pro.

There were a handful of people that no matter how much they tried, spent more time on the ground than on skates, Jenna being one of them. I think they had fun trying though. (Side note: I found out this week that my new BOSS broke her arm at the party. Pain was not the impression I was hoping to make.)

Somewhere in the haze of laughter, neon colors and friends, there was a slideshow of pictures of me. It was the first time I realized my age all night. It was scene after scene of awful hairstyles and bad clothing, but I was always smiling. What a charmed life I’ve been lucky to have.

Oh and if having a 20 min slide show of pictures of ME, at a party thrown by me for MY birthday wasn’t vain enough, my favorite part of the night was when everyone gathered around to sing happy birthday. Monkers brought a beautiful, diet demolishing cake, topped it with sparklers and presented it to me. Oh how I love attention!

Before I knew it, the night was over. We trucked back to our house for afterhours, remaining keg in tow. I wasn’t ready to let the night end, neither was my hair.
Eventually I collapsed into bed. The next morning, the hangover was eased by full house of friends and family, eager to relive the details of the night before over an omelet.


A picture of "the hair" per request from The Good Cook. It had started to fall slightly if that gives you any indication to the original height:

Dreaming of sugarplums, doughnuts and baked goods

So in an attempt to shed some pounds, I’ve been eating less sugar. It’s been working so far. The only problem is that I dream about sweet baked goods-warm Krispy Kremes, pancakes smothered in warm maple syrup, or the ultimate, moist chocolate cake with buttermilk chocolate icing. At the grocery store, I find myself standing comatose in front of the bakery case.

The only way I am able to survive is to indulge that desire every once in a while. The danger is that indulging can quickly turn to binging.
To deal with my raging, all consuming sweet tooth, I’ve decided to make something myself. It needed to have some sugar to calm the craving while still keeping the diet in the driver’s seat.

From my FAVORITE cookbook, Thank you Ellie Krieger, I found a Ricotta cheesecake recipe, where I cut some of the sugar with Splenda. For the topping, balsamic vinegar cooked down to a syrup and tossed with ripe red strawberries. It turned out great!



Here’s hoping I can hold off the sugar beast at least until my birthday when I plan on binging on whatever delicacy Monkers cooks up.

Wishing I had some content

Sorry I've been so absent lately. The new job has all of my focus lately. Plus the weather has been so gray, I've been without any positive disposition.

I guess I'm waiting for the snow to stop, so I can come out of hibernation be filled with sunshine and inspiration.

Here's to waiting. And more importantly to Spring.