Time To Start Running!

Before I married twenty years ago I ran every day after work.  I hated it.  Why?  Because I thought it would get me ultra-skinny before the wedding and allow me to continuously eat Heath Bars.  Fast forward, and I'm hoping to get ultra-skinny once again, but there's a story behind putting my feet to the pavement.

The second week of July I could hardly jog one forth of the track.  Why was I even trying?  Because of this guy:

Yes, my son completed Clemsville's Fourth of July run, turned to me, and said, "So, Mom, are you going to do it with me?"  In his hand was information about a 5K in October.  My brothers, sister-in-law, and other kidlet had run this race.  Far be it for me to say no to a kidlet's request.  The training was on.

So during the week we were in Vermont my personal trainers became my brother, Dude,  and sister-in-law, MaineGirl.  MaineGirl had found information on what was titled "Couch to 5k," which she changed to "Laptop to 5K" in my honor.  

I've known lots of runners, and I've been impressed with each of them.  I've always seen running, especially long distances, such an unachievable goal of mine.  I could hardly run down the street, for fear that my neighbors would think that I was being robbed.  No, I'm not a louse.  I power walk on the treadmill at four miles an hour at a nine incline.  But run?  Forget it.  So to hear about people running - I was in awe.  

My roommate in college, RunnerGirl, would just take off and go.  "I went for a long run!" she would come back to room and declare.  I would look up from a book and smile.  Um, yeah.  My fat arse was so envious that she could run, run, run.  At times I snuck off to the indoor track on campus and tried to run to no avail.  I hated it.  I couldn't breathe.  RunnerGirl enjoyed it!  And to this day she has Facebook posts about herself and kids enjoying the sport of running.  Yet more inspiration for me to move forward with this.

Uncle runs marathons.  He's diabetic.  He was once hit by a bus while running.  He has a toe problem (as in he can't find it).  He still runs.  Go figure.  If I had all those issues I'd be at home hiding in a closet with my cat.  His running stories crack me up.  The texts of support from him are keeping me going in this endeavor as I've encountered shin splints, weird knee problems, and the idiocy known as "Why is Kristin wearing walking shoes as she tries to run?"  My first mini-marathon truly is for him.  I'll get there.

Vermont's runs were amazing.  With vistas of the mountains (see above, which doesn't even begin to do it justice) and a country landscape, pounding the pavement in eighty-five degree heat wasn't as bad as it should be.  Dude and MaineGirl paced me at minute intervals to build up my endurance.  If Dude could do this with a pace maker, I guess I could, too.  Well, maybe...  So we ran.  Me, kidlet, MaineGirl, and Dude.  Each day.  Dude pushed me at times where I started spouting obscenities when I couldn't go on any more.  Uphill can be a killer, especially when it's nearly ninety degrees.  The former quaint scenes of wildflowers and Green Mountain farms don't look as pretty when one is breathing like Luke Skywalker's father.  

Back home I'm keeping up, running farther each day.  I've changed to my brother, Sprout's, training advice of, "Run 'til you puke."  Granted, I'm not vomiting after running, but I am running as far as I possibly can.  I'm now up to about two miles.  When I run around the track I'm amazed that I used to only be able to jog a quarter of it.  Proud?  Most definitely.  

Off I go.  Rewarding myself with a caramel macchiato more often than not when I'm done.  

Some things never change.  Yes, I do follow up with water.  I down lots of Pelligrino.  Far be it for me to drink ordinary water, right?  

What's different from twenty years ago?  I'm actually enjoying the runs this time. I plug in my music, jamming out to either Nicki Minaj or The Beatles, depending on my mood.  I compose blog posts (like this one) in my head.  I come up with new short story ideas.  I think about how cool it will be to one day get that 13.1 sticker and put it on my desk at school.  Oh yeah.  And even better?  How amazing it will be to see the look on Kidlet B's face when I finish that 5K with him.

Filter This!

As I am determined to not become the Cat Lady of Clemsville, I continue to go out on dates.  Am I happy with myself and just being alone?  Yes, that too, but I do enjoy time with someone else.  So hence, as Dads says, there's a chair with my name on it at the The Java Room.  Mr. Right is quite elusive.

I've learned to filter what I say on these excursions.  The good dates have lasted a few hours.  The bad ones?  Yikes - one lasted a painful half hour.  I haven't encountered any bad people, it's just, as we say in the dating world, "that we're not a match."  What a catch phrase!  Thank you for your application, but at this time we cannot offer you a position.  Dating is a lot like interviewing for a job.  Hence why I have to filter what I say.

I talk a lot.  Combine that with the fact that I am a bit goofy and it can be a lethal combination.  My crazy imagination comes up with all sorts of funny ideas, and on a first date zingers could fly out of my mouth that would make even the bravest guy say, "What?"

Examples of first date questions, what is said, and what actually goes on in MausiGal's head:
Mr. Date - So, you like Volvos?
MausiGal - Love them!  I'm on Volvo Number Six.  My newest is a turbo.  Great car.
MG's Head - I actually name my cars.  My last car, even though it was a wagon, had a sporty, Italian name. I think my car is sexy.  And you should, too, if you're going to date me.  Volvos rock.

Mr. Date - You're a writer?  What's your book about?
MausiGal - The main character is a teen dealing with OCD.
Mr. Date - Oh.  Interesting.  Do you have OCD?
MausiGal - (brief little chuckle) Oh no!  I've had numerous students with this disorder, and done research.
MG's Head - Why are you asking something like that on a first date?  Nosy much?  Do you have any disorders?  It's called fiction, dude, and that's why I write it.  I don't have OCD.  Now I will play with the napkin and rip it into little pieces, and arrange them in neat piles, all organized.  And make you wonder!

Mr. Date - Do you have any pets?
MausiGal - I have a funny cat named Avi.  He's so goofy.  He actually bounces off of walls!
MG's Head - STOP THERE!  Do not talk about Avi sleeping in an old box that oranges came in, or how you talk to him in the morning.  Do not talk about how you're still in mourning for LilyCat, whom you had to put to sleep less than a month ago, and referred to yourself as "Cat Killer" for days after.  Please, please do not confess that your students love the shirt you own that has cats all over it.  Men do not find future cat ladies attractive.

Mr. Date - Are you close to your family?
MausiGal - Most definitely!  I've got the greatest parents, and brothers and sisters-in law that are just the best.  My niece and nephew mean the world to me.  I see them all the time.
MG's Head - My brother insists that I once tried to kill him with a jug of clothes detergent my chasing him and whipping it at his head.  He still holds a grudge from when I flushed his toothbrush down the toilet.  My other brother?  He and I love the movie The Boondock Saints.  The scene with the cat?  I won't confess that Dads and I can never find my car in the supermarket parking lot (oh wait - I did that yesterday on a date. Oops.)

Mr. Date - What are you looking for in a guy?
MausiGal - Someone who's optimistic, fun, spontaneous, smart...
MG's Head - Didn't you read that freakin' profile I wrote?  Do I need to inflate your ego more that you may get the job?  Guess so.

I want someone who doesn't ask me the usual dumb questions.  I want someone who asks me why I loved Ecuador.  I want a guy to find out why I write postcards each morning, and love going to the post office.  Someone who would like to know why I'm on a kick of listening to 1960's music.  I know, my standards seem incredibly high.  But why shouldn't they be?

Forget the filters.  I need to be goofy me.  Let it all out.  Then I'll find that hard to get, hard to find person.  If they can handle a MausiGal's mouth, then they will be the right one.

I Get Around: Driving, Dating, and Dying Cats

Ah, summer fun!  I mentioned before that I would have quite the summer, and 2013 is no exception.  

It started off with a bang.

A car accident.  The mighty, mighty Volvo was rear-ended by a young girl texting.  Ouch!  I was in Nashua sitting in traffic when I was hit.  I was ok, the Volvo was not.  Luckily it was just bumper damage, but I was angry.  Get off your phone!  As I stepped in the ambulance to have my neck and back checked, I hoped those driving by noticed that I was wearing what my mom refers to as my "Wizard of Oz" shoes - bright red with gold heels.  

What did I learn from this?  My novel deals with a girl in a car accident, and my own memories of being hit when I was younger came back quickly.  The sound of metal.  That fear as my head went forward at the steering wheel.  The anger.  The fear that I was really hurt as my whole body ached right after the accident.  But above all, the thankfulness that I was ok.  

So life goes on... And back in the Volvo I hop!

What have I been up to?  I'm back on the dating scene.  I few years ago I read a book titled 51/50, a book in which a woman goes on fifty-one dates in fifty weeks.  I thought that would be an admirable thing when I first hit the dating scene years ago, and like the author, I could find out a lot about myself.  No thanks.  Yes, I've met some nice people (doesn't everyone say that when they're dating?).  But shall I tell you about the guy whose photo was a blond, blue-eyed dude, described as tall and who showed up?  A George Costanza look-alike.  He downed five beers in less than two hours.  Hop in the Volvo and drive!  

OK, ok.  I won't be negative about the experience after that one odd one.  I am meeting very cool people who are extremely interesting.  Like Kristen McGuiness in 51/50, am I learning more about myself?  Of course.  Don't we learn more about ourselves with each and every person we meet?  

LilyCat.  My beloved, sweet Lily.  I learned from her that you can sit on a bed all day and do nothing and still be happy.  That may sound trite, but I don't think so at all.  Lily was eleven years old, and was diagnosed with diabetes.  For a week I tried to give her insulin shots twice a day.  She had special food.  Yet still Lily was drinking so much water and ruining my house.  At the end she had a reaction to the insulin, and I made the most difficult of decisions to put her down.  I hated being an adult at that moment.  Dads went with me, and Lily went to...sleep.  I would like to think of it that way, instead of referring to myself as the "cat killer" as I did at Starbucks afterwards with Dads.  I'm trying to still justify it in so many ways - her reaction to the diabetes, how awful she looked, and her fear when I gave her the shots.  Lily began to run each time she saw me.  I will remember her purr, as she curled up with me on my bad during my saddest of moments.  Love you, LilyCat.

Three different experiences, one summer.  And it's only mid-July.  

Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress

Each summer I have a song.  This summer it's this, "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress" by the Hollies.  I remember hearing this song from when I was a kid and just thinking how it was so flipping cool.  I wanted to be the long, cool, woman in a black dress.  But instead I ended up being a short redhead.  The irony.

As I pulled out of Camp Stony on my last day of professional development on Wednesday this song came on.  I am such a believer of signs.  Things just don't happen.  It was my song!  Oh yeah!  I blazed off in the Ghetto Volvo (the new nickname since the accident). Just that morning I had finished watching Amores Perros, a Mexican film set in Mexico City that deals with a horrific car accident and dog fighting.  There's one scene in which a main character plays this Hollies' tune.  I won't give out spoilers, as you have to watch the movie.  The scene just added more coolness to me for the song.  And yes, watch the movie.  There are subtitles for those not versed in Spanish.  The film is intense.  It's not pretty.  But neither is life at times.  For that experience we become all the richer.

So what holds for me this summer?  I was talking with Dads and Kidlet B yesterday at the local coffee shop about how my life has been a whirlwind of classes for a year and a half.  I am used to getting up at 4am, pounding out homework, papers, and lessons, going to school, coming home, going to school, and doing more homework until 11pm.  I'm finding it truly weird to have...nothing...to...do.

I am editing a short story for EveryDayFiction.  They liked the first go-through, but wanted edits.  Will they publish?  I don't know.  The fun is in the writing.  A friend in college once told me, "When it's not fun anymore, don't do it!"  I keep trying to go by his advice with writing, relationships, and everything in general. Yeah, I know it sounds immature.  I was so serious as a kid.  Perhaps I'm regressing.

The summer begins. Yesterday I made a perfect loaf of bread!  Yes!  Talk about signs!  A new beginning!  And this loaf looked like it was right out of a book!  Why did it come out so good?  Because I trusted MY instincts and went with what I knew from past bread-baking experiences years ago.  The kidlets' opinion?  Perfect.

So excitied.  Vermont. Writing.  Cambridge, complete with Burdick's Chocolates.  The Swan Boats in Boston.  York Beach multiple times.  Hanging out with Drewbits and Miss Emma.  Love it!

Look for the adventures! :)

xoxo MausiGal

Gracias, Esteban...

It's not very often when I find someone else in life who is hiding two large, iced coffees in the fridge at work while they sip on one.  Yes, you are so busted, Esteban!  

Mentor, supervisor, amigo, you name it.  If we're lucky, a few times in our lives we will meet people who totally change us into something better.  Esteban was one of those people for me.

As middle school teachers we're known for being goofy.  Whatever crazy ideas I had, I could present them to Esteban and he would embrace them with open arms, or give his constructive feedback.

"I want to set up an Instagram account for the kids to follow me," was my latest idea.  Yeah, let's dive into the world of pre-teens and photos, MausiGal.

"Tell me more," was Esteban's response.  He embraces technology and anything that will hook the kids into learning.  And sure enough, my Instagram project is keeping kids interested in Spanish throughout the summer with pictures and snippets in the target language.  

"I think I'm going to end up being the Clemsville cat lady," I insisted to Esteban during one of my low mornings between eighth and sixth grade classes, complete with a "Meow!" and clawing of my hand like a cat's paw.  "I'll be conjugating present tense verbs by myself forever!"  

"Stop it!" he laughed, which always made me start my infamous snort laugh.  "You are intelligent, good-looking, the kids love you, and you have so much to offer.  Remember the wonderful you."  

This exchange was just a snippet, a few minutes stolen in his office as he rushed about with his laptop cradled in his arm (as it usually was) and I was running to make coffee (as I usually was).  But these words have stuck in my mind since, and I'm sure they will continue to do so.

Our last day of school with the kidlets was Friday.  It's a tradition at our school to wave goodbye to them as the busses depart, giving a final farewell to yet another school year.  This year was just an amazing one for me.  I was truly blessed to have such amazing kids in each and every class, and colleagues who can make me laugh like no other, and support me in all aspects of my life.

We are waving goodbye to Esteban as well.  He is leaving to go be by the sea, to head up a new charge of kidlets that will be so incredibly lucky to have him.  Who will be able to cheer me on when the days are rough, I have some crazy new idea for the classroom, or when someone once again steals my half and half and K-cups from the staff kitchen?

I'll be ok.  Professionally and personally I have grown so much from Esteban's guidance.  The end result?  I am a better teacher, mom, daughter, sister, friend because of him.  And above all, better to myself.

Gracias, Esteban, por todo.  Thank you for everything.  May every step of the way be without Dora dolls!

xoxo MausiGal

Unchained Melody

"Tenderness awakens within the security of knowing we are thoroughly and sincerely liked by someone. The mere presence of that special someone in a crowded room brings an inward sigh of relief and a strong sense of feeling safe."

Passed along to me from Sunshine Gal via the book Abba's Child

I decided to start with a quote in lieu of a photo this time. I was chatting online with Sunshine Gal, and she shared these words with me. They directly related to what I want to blog about - Mama and Dads.

Their song? Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. I can't help but cry each time I hear it. I think about how they chose that song years ago as their own, and how they had no idea at the time what ups and downs they would go through during their lives together. Throw a crazy daughter in the mix, and their days were complete!

My parents met through letters. I firmly believe my love for the written word stems from this original relationship. My mom wrote to my dad for about two years while he was stationed in Nancy, France, with the US Army.

"He wrote the longest letters," she commented this morning during our daily morning discussion. "The other guy I wrote to was cocky." Score one for Dads!

"Perhaps you need a pen pal," was my mother's comment on my social life. Yes, possibly I do. Seeing as I love to write postcards and scribe all sorts of stories a pen pal would seem an ideal situation for me. However, it would be hard to do the things I love with someone just through letters - experience drives to nowhere, long talks in coffee shops, and sitting on a beach getting sunburned. SPF 70 need not apply. Redheads still burn...in more ways than one.

I love letters. I do get excited each day as I open up my mailbox or post office box to see what arrived for me that day. The experience is somewhat lost with email and text messaging. Two boyfriends have sent me postcards, and that endeared me to them for months. I'm a sucker for the written word. To see the handwriting is like seeing the person's soul. Have I overdone it? I don't think so. I feel like I know them better, can feel them, once I see their handwriting. Sharing words on paper has become an intimate experience in our day and age of electronic media.

But I'm still hooked on letters of any kind - email messages, Facebook exchanges, texts, you name it. Letters flying across the screen get me excited at the possibilities! I have met so many great people through Postcrossing that evolved from postcards into emails, texts, and eventually a visit. There's Sis - my forever friend in The Netherlands. I feel no one in the world may know me better than her. And then there's Baer. With him, the word raisin will never mean the same! And then there's Sakule, my new friend from Germany whom I can't wait to write to three times a week via postcards.

I know what my mother felt. She must have waited for the mailbox to be full, with letters from Dads. Each word brought forth the possibility of a future, of a connection. Who knew when she met him if he would be a total ass? Thank goodness he wasn't! History was set, and along came MausiGal, MustangBro, and Sprout.

Emails. Texts. Letters. Postcards. All the same, yet so different. Perhaps my mom and I have more in common than I thought...

Help Me Rhonda

I'm listening to "The Bold 1960's" on Pandora right now as I write this morning.  This is quite a change from my usual Nicki Minaj and Ke$ha mix.  I've been playing the oldies in the car in the afternoon with my dad as we drive around for errands in the hope that it will jog his memory.  Oh, so I hope.

I think I've come to a conclusion.  This blog isn't going to be about adventures on motorcycles, concoctions in the kitchen, or how I go psycho in my head at the supermarket deli.  I'm going to focus on my father's battle with vascular dementia for the time being.  Of course I won't be able to help but throw in the casual funny that happens here and there, or the odd thing from life in the classroom.  But my main crux in life right now, aside from the kidlets, is Dads.

The picture above with the cat and the flag is because my dad is a veteran.  Yeah, I know.  Lame attempt at including a photo with this entry.  Admit it, it breaks up the heaviness of this post!

Nearly every day I take Dads on an adventure somewhere.  Our adventures include the post office, the supermarket, and sometimes the dry cleaners.  When we have time, we go out for coffee.  I know people who know me aren't surprised, as I'll try to weasel my way in to get additional coffee any way I can.  Our coffee chat sessions will be a whole other blog post, as they include such topics as Men Who Have Treated His Daughter Badly And Are On His List, The State of the Union, Why He Likes Walmart, Your Kids Need to Cut the Lawn, and Are You Doing OK Kiddo?

We drive around Clemsville and Dads, as always, taps his knee to classics by the Beach Boys and the Beatles.  He has done this as long as I can remember.  He can recall where he was when he heard these songs fifty years ago, but has no idea where we are going.

"Are we going to the post office?"

"Yup, Dads.  And then Demoulas."

"Oh.  Do you need to go to the post office?"

I have the utmost patience with this.  Remember - I teach middle school, where kids lose pencils and cry about it.

The other day my mother sent us on a mission to the drugstore, CVS, to buy a certain type of aspirin.  Both he and I were befuddled.

"This it?  Coated?  Look at my sticky note."  I think Dads and I are the only people who refuse to call it a "post-it" and still call it a "sticky note."

"Um.  Yeah," I look at the box and nod my head in agreement.  Looks good to me.  Of course upon return back home we are both wrong.

Who has the dementia now?

Dads is with me through thick and thin.  One of my cats is sick.  She's drinking too much water, cuddling with me excessively at night, not moving much, and when you look at her you can just tell.  As I write this blog post she's sleeping in a box and I just thought she was dead.  I screamed out, "Lily!" twice and she finally put her head up.  I have been thinking about who will go with me if I do have to put her down.  It will be Dads.

Hopefully he will forget the whole moment...