Monday, March 28, 2011

The Skunk Whisperer

My skunk identity began in the summer of 2008 at my Aunt Barbara's sun room on Lake Okoboji.  My sister-in-law, Robbie, and I were vacationing with our families.  We had stopped over for a coffee and a visit with Aunt Barbara at her summer home.  While Barbara brewed the coffee, Robbie and I noticed the selection of interesting books on her end table.  The one that particularly caught our eye was a book called "Medicine Cards" which included a stack of cards titled "The Discovery of Power through the Ways of Animals".  Hmmm…now that sounded interesting.  Barbara had always been a very spiritual and intuitive person.  She had strong beliefs that our greater being comes from forces from deep within; along with those outside our physical bodies.  We were curious as to what this book was all about.  It had to be a hit as it sat at the top of the stack and one that Barbara, our resident expert in such matters, surely referred to often.

Barbara came back with the coffee and we inquired.  "Well," Barbara told us, "you know we all have a totem of animals that guides us and represents our inner being.  They provide powerful insight and understanding to our unique purpose in life."  Wow!  That certainly was something I had never learned in Catholic school.  But there was more.  "Not only does each of us have a totem of animals that are unique to us and in touch with our being, but we also have a power animal.  This power animal is walking by our side at all times.  Once we know our power animal, a person typically realizes that this animal has been in our dreams or has been making appearances in our life when needed."  Now this was some cool stuff.  At this point Robbie and I were begging for an "animal reading" from Barbara.  Clearly she had done this before and knew what she was talking about.

So Robbie went first.  Barbara laid the cards out, face down, and asked Robbie to follow her heart and instinct in choosing the card that would be her power animal.  Robbie carefully selected a card...a muskrat.  Barbara read the description “Muskrats have many attributes such as inhabiting both land and water, able to adapt to surroundings, being relatively waterproof, and having a knack for going about their business undetected. With the Muskrat we are encouraged to tap into our own ingenuity and adaptability when dealing with our present circumstances - realizing that everything has a potential for positive outcome (no matter how bleak appearances may seem)."  Robbie and I were speechless.  This nailed Robbie's current life circumstance and mirrored her personality.  This was right before Robbie made a job change (after much deliberation) and was so in sync with Robbie's love for water and everything surrounding water (two years later, Russ and Robbie bought a lake house).  Unbelievable, we thought.  Robbie really was the muskrat.  Now I was very anxious to find out my power animal.  Seriously, how could I be 40 and have no clue that I was missing this part of my life?

Although the pressure and anticipation was building, I did my best to choose exactly the right card that was destined to be my animal being.  I flipped it over to reveal…a skunk.  Really…a skunk?  How could I be a skunk?  This can't be good.  Where is the eagle card?  But Barbara read the expression on my face and quickly interjected, "Sandy, this is a very commanding animal.  You are SO lucky to have this as your power animal".  Alright, I will wait to reserve judgment.  Barbara flips the book to the skunk page and begins to read, "The skunk brings us an awareness of self-respect. When we fully accept who we are and learn to express the essence of ourselves, without ego, we attract those who share our path and repel those who don't. Skunk medicine is about developing a good self-image.  The physical and spiritual qualities of one with the skunk power animal are self-confidence, self-esteem, self-respect, creative energy, paying attention to intuition and inner knowings".  Okay, now I am listening.  That really is impressive.  I like the skunk.  I want to be the skunk.  I am the skunk!  Yes!


Robbie (The Muskrat), Barbara (The Card Reader) and Sandy (The Skunk)

So Robbie and I enjoyed our coffee and conversation and then went back to our beach resort.  We were very excited about our new found animal identities.  We tried to explain our findings and resulting identities with the others at the beach, but we must not have communicated it very well.  They clearly thought it was all a joke.  But we knew better.  Robbie was the muskrat and I was the skunk.  And once I was keenly aware of my new power animal, I now noticed the skunk presence around me.  On more than one run I came nearly face to face with this smelly creature.  Among my running group I became known as the "skunk whisperer" and would use my innate connection with my brother animal to protect my comrades from "the spray".  Yes, there was awareness that my presence was an asset as my skunk friends would respect our spiritual connection. 

In February of 2010, I accompanied Garrett to California to bury his deceased grandfather.  After flying in to Newport Beach, Garrett and I were joined by his Aunt Linda and dad, Larry.  We were enjoying a drive along the beach with the fresh sea air and great company when I eyed a small run down store with a sign, "Tattoos and Body Piercing".  "Hey, Garrett", I teased, "You should get a tattoo!"  Garrett quickly responds, “No, Sandy, YOU should get a tattoo.”  Aunt Linda picks up on this comment and says, "Yes, Sandy, you should get a tattoo, but you need to first research the artist.  There are some very talented artists out there that can do great designs."  Although I was light-heartily teasing when I made the comment, I had noticed that Aunt Linda had a beautiful "bee" tattoo on her ear.  It was delicate and pretty.  It really was well done by an artist with talent and its uniqueness complimentary of Garrett’s attractive and outgoing aunt.  Linda goes on to ask me, "Sandy, what kind of tattoo would you get?"  I had never thought of such a thing before and my mind was blank.  "It really should be something that symbolizes you as a person", Linda tells me in encouragement.  That's it. "A skunk!" I say with a smile.  "I would get a skunk tattoo."  Larry laughs at this interchange and Linda compliments me on my interesting choice as we continue our drive.  I then share with them the story on how the skunk is my power animal.  After we got back to our hotel room, Garrett looks at me and laughs "Sandy, really?  A skunk tattoo?  You might want to rethink that choice as any placement near your behind could be misinterpreted".  Hmmm...very good point.

Larry, Garrett and Aunt Linda taking "a dip" on Newport Beach


So throughout the rest of our California trip, we share a few laughs on my skunk presence and the possibility of my getting a skunk tattoo.  Garrett’s dad and aunt were a pure joy to get to know during this trip together.  Larry is a straight-shootin’ country boy who grew up in small town Indiana.  He was the son of a barber and my kind of guy (noting my fondness for his son...the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree).  I instantly felt comfortable with him; as though I had known him forever.  Larry could have easily of been one of my dad’s buddies from my childhood and would have felt completely at home in Remsen.  Our small town ideals and upbringing gave us an instant connection on this short trip together.

I flew back from a sunny and relaxing California to a busy tax season in Nebraska.  The next two months flew with my annual paper shuffle and accounting craziness.  About two days before the tax deadline of April 15th, a package arrived on my desk.  It was bigger than a checkbook box, but not large enough to hold tax papers.  Hmmm...this was curious.  The label was handwritten.  I quickly perused the return label and saw "Brucker".  Immediately I thought Garrett had sent me a surprise.  I am a bit spoiled in this regard as I am the frequent recipient of cards, flowers and presents from Garrett.  But the handwriting wasn't familiar.  I looked closer and saw it read "Larry Brucker".  Wow, a package from Garrett's dad...what could this be?  I opened the box and carefully pulled out a furry bundle with a yellow sticky note attached that read "Sandy, you will want to hang this up a bit and it should be fine.  It's been in a drawer a while.  Larry"  I unfolded this treasure and quickly realized that what I had in my hands was a genuine skunk skin.  Yes, the real McCoy with little holes where the eyes once were and a little nose.  I laughed so hard that my co-workers started gathering in my office to see what all the commotion was about.  They were amazed by my gift.  While they were all sifting through paperwork, pencils and highlighters; I was the recipient of a skunk skin!  A never-before delivery at our office and I was quite proud...a gift like no other.  Why, Larry Brucker, you have my number.  And, yes, I am most appreciative of this treasured gift.  Because, you know...I am the skunk :)


My treasured creature!


Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Grandma's Final Journey


Grandma and Grant at Lake Okoboji

My grandma is dying.  That sounds so harsh, but is so real.  It might be tonight.  It might be this weekend.  But the reality is that she is dying.  This reality hit me square in the head after I visited her at the Sioux City hospital a couple of weeks ago.  As she lay in her hospital bed and at the end of my visit, I told her good bye and asked if it was okay for me to go.  Her answer was, "No, let's stick together."  So I sat by her bedside and was there for her.  No words were spoken.  But with my grandma, words aren't a necessary accommodation.  After a bit of time, I asked her again, "Grandma, can I say good bye now?"  Grandma looked me in the eye with that special sparkle, squeezed my hand, and said "yes."  With a kiss and a hug, I left.  I know in my heart this was our final good bye.  Grandma is truly ready to die and join Grandpa in heaven.  But no matter the age (Grandma, Marie Wagner, will turn 93 this month) or the amount of faith, death is never easy.

35th anniversary ~ June 1976
My Grandpa Gib died young (in today's standards) at the age of 74.  The timeline for his death as it relates to me was somewhere between my finishing college and having my kids.  I was always close to my grandparents as my brothers and I had the benefit of living in the same town as them.  We actually lived down the street and were able to walk or ride our bikes to their house.  When my grandpa died, Grandma Gib (for my brothers and I, both of my grandma's inherited the nickname of their spouse...Grandpa's name was Gib Wagner) asked me to give the eulogy at his funeral.  Along with my Aunt Gwen, we both gave our testaments of love to our dad/grandpa as a celebration of his full life.  My notes for the eulogy were handwritten chicken scratch.  After the funeral, Grandma asked if she could keep them.  I rewrote them much neater for her and she framed my words and hung them on her bedroom wall.  Unfortunately there is no automatic "spell check" for a handwritten note and I was reminded of my error in misspelling heaven as "heavan" a minimum of eleven times each time I saw my proud manuscript hanging on the wall.  But my poor spelling didn't faze Grandma as she praised me on many occasions for my words memorializing Grandpa.  She also asked me to do the same for her at her funeral.  I hated to hear this from her.  Talking about her funeral seemed so morbid and unreal.  She was the picture of health and this wasn't something I wanted to think about; let alone add to my to-do list.


My brothers and I ~ March 1977
Grandma is laughing because I am mimicking her


But now I am thinking about it a lot.  I am not worried about the actual act of giving her eulogy or even if I will be one of the family members delivering it.  Grandma has many great kids and grand kids that can share the spirit of my grandma just as well as I can.  But her words and wishes have motivated me to write about my Grandma while she is still alive and finishing the last part of her journey on earth.  The prayers and drive time from my final visits with her have given me time to reflect and recapture my stories and thoughts that epitomize this awesome lady, my grandma.


I really can't compare my grandma to anyone.  I have never met anyone quite like her.  In addition to her spunk, wittiness and drive; she has always been one tough cookie.  We loved to humor Grandma and she encouraged us with her contagious laugh.  Her own wittiness sharpened as her Alzheimer's took over her mind.  As her mind forgot, her tongue picked up the slack.  As late as last fall, Grandma had us crying in laughter with her funny comments and comedic timing.  I sometimes asked myself if Grandma really had Alzheimer's or if miraculously she was going to tell us that she was playing us all along to watch our reaction.  There is something surreal about this disease when the afflicted seem of perfect health and sound mind; other than having a five minute memory span.  This was the case with my Grandma Gib.

Sandy, Gma, Matt & Ky

The Alzheimer's also gave her a bit of "truth serum" as we all knew she would tell us exactly what she thought of our clothing, looks, or words.  But all these comments were made with a smile on her face.  On a visit last fall Grandma commented on the many colors in my hair.  "Do you like it?"  I asked wincing as I awaited her answer.  "Yes."  she answered. (whew!).  Okay, I decided to push the envelope a bit and asked, "Grandma, I just had my birthday.  Do you know how old I am?"  "No, I don't," she answered.  "I am 43!" I tell her.  "Yous…43?  I can't believe that.  You were such a blessing to us when you were born."  (awe!)

Grandma, you have been a blessing in my life and in the lives of all of your children and grandchildren.  We have been blessed with a grandma with a sparkle in her eye, great sense of humor, and a true giver in all she did in life.  Grandma was the forever caregiver.  My cousins, brothers and I spent so many days and nights at Grandma and Grandpa Gib's.  She spent most of her time baking and cooking in the kitchen or quilting.  Grandma's cookies were her trademark.  They came in all types, but she was known famously for her M&M, chocolate chip, and frosted refrigerator cookies.  Not only did we enjoy them from her cookie jar (always with a piece of bread in the jar to keep the cookies fresh), but anyone visiting her house was sent home with at least one baggie of cookies, if not two, secured with a twist tie.  As with any good former-farm wife, Grandma did not believe in "low-fat" or "heart-healthy" cooking.  Her frequent cooking staples included oleo, butter and oil.  Her meats of choice were not the lower fat cuts and everything was with rich flavor and true comfort food.  And we savored every morsel.
Remsen Kids Day ~ Summer of 1975
Mark, Sandy and Matt with Grandma and Grandpa Gib


Until Alzheimer's took over Grandma's memory, she and I would laugh and laugh over our “pancake story”.  Grandma was famous for making "breakfast for dinner".  One summer night as a child, I was hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa and stayed for dinner.  It was a common occurrence in the summer to just simply spend the day with my grandparents.  That night was just the three of us and Grandpa was still outside messing with one of the vehicles.  Not wanting to wait any longer for Grandpa, Grandma sat down a fat stack of pancakes in front of me.  As I poured on the maple syrup, I noticed some foreign objects peaking out of my meal.  I looked closer and realized that there were short black hairs cooked into my pancakes.  I tried to figure out what to do as I didn't want to hurt my grandma's feelings, but knew I needed to say something before Grandpa received his stack.  "What?"  Grandma exclaimed after I pointed out the abnormality.  The mystery was soon solved when Grandma realized that she had set the griddle out and then went about her day.  This consisted of her quietly quilting in the living room and me sitting by her side.  While Grandma and I enjoyed this down time, Kitser, her kitty, must have laid down on her griddle (not on, of course).  Grandma didn't wipe off the griddle before pouring the batter which resulted in the final product of fur pancakes.  She was so embarrassed, but we would laugh for years remembering how we both closely examined those pancakes trying to solve the mystery of the foreign hairs.

Hanging with Grandma while she quilted is a very fond memory.  I could sit in the warm sunlight by the living room window and watch grandma quilt for hours.  We would talk or just sit in silence.  Silence was never uncomfortable with Grandma.  And we would always have Kitser for extra company.  Grandma loved kitties.  They have given her much happiness over her 93 years.  Yet Grandma is still a farm girl at heart.  When I recently told her about my sweet kitty who was having "potty problems" and was having accidents in my house, Grandma responded with no hesitation, "Sounds like you need to send that kitty out to the barn."
Mark opens a gift while Aunt Gwen looks on.
Grandma is holding me and Dad, Matt.

Outside her house, Grandma had many hobbies and past times.  Grandma held a side job.  She cleaned the Remsen Public Library and they loved her.  I frequented the library and they would just beam when they spoke of Grandma.  When Grandma and Grandpa started wintering in Arizona, she asked me fill in for her in her absence.  Although I found cleaning the empty library exhilarating (felt like a Night at the Museum adventure), I couldn't hold a candle to the bar my grandma had set and I was reminded of this often by the library ladies.  In addition to her love for the library, my grandma loved to communicate by writing letters to family members.  One would never know by Grandma's excellent writing skills and love for the written word that she only had a grade school education.  Her siblings did not attend high school, so when Grandma, the youngest, expressed her desire to go to high school, she was told no.  Grandma always had much regret that she never graduated from high school, something she wanted badly.

Grandma was also always on a diet.  I would tag along with her to her "TOPPS" meetings.  These were a local version of Weight Watchers with weekly meetings in the conference room at the library.  The meetings entailed a weekly weigh in and then motivational meetings with takeaways like refrigerator stickers that said "once on the lips forever on the hips".  Grandma took me with her to many of these meetings.  I think Grandpa would have called these "cackle sessions".  All of Grandma's quilting friends were members.  The ironic part was that I never remembered anyone actually losing weight; they just talked about it a lot.

Having fun at Grandma and Grandpa's ~ Nov 1977
Matt, Mark
Tiphanie, Beth, Sandy, Kelly
All who have known my Grandma know she has always been a giver.  She never wanted the spotlight or asked for anything in return.  She doted on her grandkids and especially loved little babies.  She would gladly take on babysitting the newborns often.  She always gave with her grandkids, making our stays there an adventure and letting us rummage through their house, particularly the upstairs and basement, finding old toys to play with and treasures to find.  Visitors to her home saw her "Goodwill table" on their exit out.  Similar to a rummage sale display, this is where she would offer her free giveaways.  These were truly items we all would simply give to Goodwill.  But Grandma wanted to offer them to her family and friends first, so would display her giveaways for anyone with interest to take home with them.

Grandpa and Grandma looking good ~ 1971
Although Grandma would appear from the outside to be a homebody, she was actually a seasoned traveler.  She and Grandpa were very involved in the Catholic Order of Foresters.  Their commitment and involvement took them all over the world.  They loved to visit their many friends and family across the country and enjoyed new adventures.  On my last visit to Grandma I brought with me a rosary she gave me as a gift.  This is a very special rosary as she took it with her to the Vatican and it has been blessed by the Pope.  I have seen stacks of pictures of Grandma and Grandpa visiting interesting destinations.  You could pick out the era based on my grandma's glasses and wardrobe style.  There were pictures with lobster bibs, bare feet in the water, mountains, and amusement park rides.  Although she wouldn't openly admit this; like our Grandpa Gib, Grandma liked an adventure.  But she would prefer for us to just see her as "Grandma".

I have two especially fond memories that involve my Grandma that bring a big smile to my face and that I want to share.  Both involved my high school years and were indicative of my Grandma’s personality; her kind nature and her spunk.  The first centered on my driving abilities (or lack thereof) at age sixteen.  Rest assured, I have since redeemed myself and am no longer a menace to society.  But in 1983, this wasn’t the case.  Driver’s Ed was a struggle for me.  I over thought basic driving functions (seriously…wouldn’t it be logical to think that you would need to accelerate to turn a corner?) and the miscalculations that followed resulted in my Driver’s Ed teacher requiring a driver’s test for me prior to my being issued an official driver’s license.  That didn’t go well for me either as I flunked two driver’s tests.  My grandpa got wind of this and took matters into his own hands.  Grandpa Gib (post-stroke) decided that all I needed was some practice time on the winding Iowa highway system.  So we took to the road with me behind the wheel, Grandpa as my co-pilot, and Grandma in the back seat.  Grandpa would instruct me to “hug the line” when he felt I was too far to the right.  I would follow his instruction which would quickly be followed by Grandma gasping and wincing in the back seat.  This was then a sign to Grandpa to tell me to start “hugging the right”.  Again, if I got too close to the right, wincing and gasping would come from the back seat.  This exercise continued over our hours on the road until I finally figured out how to stay in the middle of my lane.  I am sure Grandma was scared for her life, but never said a negative word.  And yes, the practice and instruction did pay off as I passed my next try at the driver’s exam with flying colors.

My next memory was shortly after I obtained my driver’s license.  I was in LeMars with my friend, Bev, hanging out with her brother who lived there.  When it was time to go home and make our curfew, Bev and I realized that our ride had already left.  LeMars was nine miles from Remsen and we desperately needed a ride.  Keep in mind that this was an era before cell phones.  Today our dilemma could have been quickly resolved with a series of text messages.  Instead Bev and I went out by the busy “loop” looking for a familiar Remsen car to catch a ride home.  We did just that and hopped into the car of some friends as they started their trek home.  Not two blocks from the point we jumped in their car, they were pulled over by the police.  Found in the car were “open containers” and we were all cited for M.I.P. (Minors in Possession).  I cried my eyes out and tried desperately to defend myself to my parents.  My pleas fell on deaf ears as my dad promptly put “For Sale” signs in my Nova and parked it on Main Street for three weeks.  My grandparents were wintering in Arizona during my run in with the law.  A week after “my arrest”, the violation was printed in the LeMars Daily Sentinel, of which my Grandma was having forwarded to her in Arizona.  She was appalled by this injustice and sent me the following letter explaining her intent to write the paper.  And that she did and it was published on the front page.  Although as a teenager I was a bit embarrassed by the additional attention, I will never forget the love I felt by Grandma going to bat for me.

So now my spunky grandma has grown weary and tired of her physical woes.  On my last visit with her, she told me that she was “Going home.  Grandpa was waiting".  Yes, Grandma, it is time to go home and there is no doubt that Grandpa is waiting.  We will miss our lovely matriarch and surely cry many tears, but our hearts are full of Grandma's love and memories are full of Grandma's smile.  And per Grandma's request, we will sing her favorite hymn, "Make me a Channel of Your Peace", as we bid her good-bye and pray for her peaceful journey to Heaven.

Make me a channel of Your peace
Where there is hatred let me bring Your love
Where there is injury, Your pardon, Lord
And where there's doubt, true faith in You

Oh, Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love with all my soul

Make me a channel of Your peace
Where there's despair in life let me bring hope
Where there is darkness, only light
And where there's sadness, ever joy
Make me a channel of Your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive
And in dying that we're born to eternal life

Dad, Gma and Aunt Barb

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

30 Years of Running...Fun, Family, Friends and Fashion (Part III)


Russ and Angy after our maiden 1/2
 As I worked my way through my 30's and the daily whirlwind of backpacks, field trips, day care, and work, I continued with our 5:30 a.m. morning runs.  Our routine and route rarely varied (started and ended at Kristi's house), but the company would change up on occasion.  I recruited my brother-in-law, Russ, to join us.  He was at a fitness peak after dropping some pounds and in turn, picked up running.  Unlike the chatty women he joined on these morning runs, Russ was concerned about things we had never noticed before...exact length of the route and our official clocked time.  To give you a little more insight on my brother-in-law; he was former military, a competitive athlete in high school and college, and a successful coach.  To him, there was no reason to run if you were not gaging your improvement and running with a goal in mind.  Indeed he brought a whole new element into our morning routine.  Before we knew it, we were checking our times daily and Russ was pushing us to go harder each step of the way.  We were many times too winded to talk (gasp!).  Russ had turned into our coach and trainer and we became his faithful team.  In no time our group had signed up for our first half marathon and set time goals with a strict training plan.  We ran the Omaha half-marathon in the fall.  Not only did we finish in the hilly fog (with threats of escaped zoo animals...true story), but we ran well; beating our finish time goal.  Our coach pulled us through.

Russ dropped out of our group for reasons I can't exactly remember (work conflict, injury, lack of sleep...?), but the by-product of his intense training (I believe his work outs are now coined as for-profit fitness "boot camps") was Angy catching the racing and training bug.  She was in peak physical condition and looking for more of a challenge post-Russ than going back to our typical morning cackle sessions.  Being the social connector of our group, Angy found a group of organized runners that had morning runs from our gym.  This was a pivotal time that changed the core of our group and our runs.  Angy successfully led a merger of sorts; our little morning run group (basically Angy, Kristi and I) were now part of this more serious and expansive running group.  These new morning runs challenged Angy and she enjoyed the push.  Kristi and I were just happy to be invited to join and decided to give the merger a chance.  Admittedly there was some hesitation as we enjoyed our morning running therapy and the trade off of the competitive push was something we weren't convinced balanced out.  But we knew that we could always go back to our old route and routine.  So we gave it a shot.

Butch, our fearless leader, with his grand kids
Butch was the leader of this group who called themselves (or Butch called them) the "Early Morning Milers".  Butch led and organized the training runs.  There were different routes and mileage depending on the day and an e-mail went out weekly providing all of these details.  Butch was our leader and he didn't take this position lightly.  You could count on Butch's weekly e-mail like clock work.  If there was a change in the schedule or a special request, you ran it by Butch first or you would have Hell to pay.  Butch was the running patriarch, which was admirable because I am sure this was similar to herding cats.  Our group came with a wide range of ages, motivations for running, and eclectic personalities (a nice way of saying people who run at 5:30 each morning couldn't possibly be normal). The varying runs and runners brought a new element of interest to our routine and the change up was welcome.  Kristi and I decided to stick with this group.  Everyone had their story...running story, life story...and we loved to hear them all as we ran our miles and enjoyed the company.  The runs quickly became all about logging in miles and tracking running paces, which we monitored closely.  This was when running a marathon entered our radar screen and seemed like something we could actually accomplish.  We were logging in the training miles, so we should be up to running the distance, right?

Kristi and I toyed with the idea of a marathon, but always fell back on the fact that we weren't "marathoners".  That was we them; not us.  Honestly it was probably a combination of both being chicken and a bit lazy.  Then one fateful night, I was caught in a vulnerable state (drinking wine?) when my young cousin, Angelina, called begging "Will you and Kristi please, please, please train and run the Chicago Marathon with me?  That would be sooooo cool!  Please, please!!"  So of course I said "We're in!"  Hmmmm...maybe I should have run it by Kristi first.  Sweet Angelina had nannied for me while in high school a couple of summers past and had joined our morning runs when ever in town.  She was now a college student in Chicago and thought it would be such a great idea for us to train apart, but then run our first marathon together.  Kristi couldn't run Chicago, but committed to run the Omaha Marathon and we would train together.  So training began and we became part of the morning running group with a clear goal and a marathon on the calendar.  This is the point where we truly passed the runner's initiation and were secretly accepted as part of the group.


The "Early Morning Milers" with some early morning coffee following a run


So we ran, and we ran, and then we would run the same thing again.  We listened attentively to the other runner's training plans and past marathon experiences.  We logged in miles until we could barely move and then we would plan the next run.  Honestly, it was a bit like Groundhog Day.  Kristi and I would beg people to join us on different legs of our training runs to entertain us and tell us stories.  My brother, Matt, would keep us company while riding his bike and other runners would come and pick up 5 or so miles with us during our long 20+ mile runs.  Indeed we knew how Forest Gump felt (with no Jenny).  Then our first big event day arrived.  Kristi tackled the hilly and very "Omaha-ish" Omaha Marathon.  She did it and her running comrades cheered her on to the finish line.

Next it was my turn.  I flew to the windy city for my big event, but with no Angelina to accompany me.  She had an ankle injury and wouldn't be able to participate.  Several of my running group had entered this marathon as well, but all were seasoned marathoners with paces much quicker than my 4 hour goal.  So with Kristi's recent finish as my motivation, I took on the marathon solo.  But as with anything else in life, a person can always find a friend if they take the time and make eye contact and strike up conversation with the right person.  My new found running friend was a lady by the name of Dana.  She too was 40ish, running her first marathon, and with a goal of beating 4 hours.  Dana ran in a running skirt and was cute as a button.  She had a little more motivation than me as her entire hometown in Illinois was monitoring her performance.  She was the wife of a local pastor and was a personal trainer at a gym when not raising her kids.  A local radio station did a story on her; broadcasting her quest to run her first marathon in less that 4 hours (how about that for peer pressure and motivation???).  Although we stuck together through mile 15, it was at this mile marker that I experienced side cramps, but somehow rallied through.  Dana kept with the 4 hour pace runners and we parted ways.  I did see in the final results that she clocked in a final time of 3:58 (no public humiliation for Dana!).

Angelina joined me for the last five miles.  She really wanted to be there to support me since this was all her idea.  I am not going to lie...by mile 19, I did not think this was such a great idea and I was a bit crabby when I saw Angelina's smiling, sweet (non-running) face.  She was very chatty and encouraging.  I think I wanted to ring her neck for reasons that make no sense now, but certainly prove the argument that there is such a thing as temporary insanity.  I do remember asking her to talk about anything, but not to ask me any questions or expect an answer.  Nice.  So I rally and finish in just over 4 hours.  I now get the whole "hitting a wall" thing.  The last 5 miles felt like the first twenty in total.  But Gina and I crossed the finish line hand in hand.  Gina was beautiful as ever, vibrant, and smiling her innocent smile.  I am cross, sweaty and looking like a hospice patient.  As we are greeted by the barrage of volunteers lining the finish, Gina is told over and over, "Oh my gosh, you look so good.  You don't even look like you finished a marathon."  Angelina's response with her electric smile was simply,"Thanks!"  If I wasn't truly dying a slow death and if I had even an ounce of energy left in me, I would have wrapped my hands around her neck and...sorry.  Yes, I certainly would have thanked her for the encouragement and for talking me into running a marathon.  Amen.

After the euphoria of being able to say "We ran a marathon!" and receiving the many accolades and pats of the back, Kristi and I needed to decide on the "next step".  As we reviewed our adventure long and hard, we came to the conclusion that we were the first marathoners in history who actually gained weight during our training (we think we overcompensated on the eating once we thought we burned a gazillion calories).  We also concluded that we really didn't like spending all of our free time running.  Surprisingly we actually had other hobbies and interests outside of running.  The most simplistic way of describing our running motivation is to say that we like to be able to button our jeans.  Since we didn't accomplish that with the marathon, we moved on to Plan B.  No more marathons for Kristi and Sandy.  The joy is that we can say we ran one and to the non-runners in the world this is just as impressive as those who run them all the time.  We earned the running badge of honor and are now retired from the sport of marathoning.

As was the case with our original running group, people came and went from this group for a variety of reasons as well.  We added Tam simply by running into her (literally) as she ran out of her driveway on a run.  Soon she was part of the e-mail list.  Cindy was added after a chance conversation at the eye doctor and then realizing I ran with her daughter.  Another add to the e-mail list.  We enjoyed our running friendships, past and present.  After fighting a valiant battle with cancer, Butch left us in death.  The weekly e-mails and the "Early Morning Milers" are now a distant memory and our group has since disbanded into smaller groups.  We miss our fearless leader and we talk of Butch often.  He would not be happy with our dropping the ball on our group runs and not keeping the e-mails going.  On occasion we do all get together to honor his memory and reminisce of many Butch runs...healthy and sick...and then we have a cup of cheap coffee (the best!) to toast our friend.

Post marathon and post 40 brought in post marriage for me.  This was an unexpected event that was a slow brew for about a year.  During that year, I did not speak a word of my woes at home on our morning runs.  In retrospect it was probably wishful thinking that the tide would turn.  There is always finality once words are spoken; something I just wasn't ready to accept.  Our post-Butch running group had dwindled down to the "Fab Four" (our coined named by the other runners) which included Kristi, Tam, Cindy and me. I revealed my life changing situation to my comrades the day I filed for divorce.  They have been by my side every step of the way since.  Looking back on that year pre-divorce, my friends later told me I had strangely fell silent on our runs.  They sensed something was wrong, but running and the comfort of our stories of our daily lives got me through.  Running therapy has come in many shapes and sizes as we have all shared our heartaches and life changing events as a part of our daily morning runs.  Our golden rule on our runs is "what is said on the run, stays on the run."  

 
Chicago Half ~ 9/13/09
 I do need to give Angelina credit as she has since redeemed herself to me.  Along with her twin brother, Stefano, the three of us comprise "Team Awesome" (notice a trend in naming of groups of which I belong...don't people use titles to boast confidence??).  Angelina, Stefano and I met in Chicago on my first birthday post-divorce to run the Chicago Half Marathon together.  Team Awesome really was awesome.  I loved the time spent running the fun race with my overly energetic and loving cousins.  With Stefano residing in California and Angelina now in the state of Washington, we push each other to run on our home turf and then enjoy our travels to meet for a run (runners tip...once you run a marathon, you can do a half with your eyes closed).  We have since met in Phoenix and ran the Rock and Roll Half together in January of 2010.  Stefano and I will run the Lincoln Half together this May and I am hoping that I can convince the twin duo to join me in Denver in the fall.  Stefano is pushing me to have a "goal".  Hmmmm...we shall see.


"Team Awesome" after the Phoenix Half (01/10) ~ Angelina, Stefano and Sandy


My morning running routine is back at Kristi's house where it all began. The circle of running seems to follow the circle of life.  Kristi, Tam, Cindy and I run our morning 5 miles with no watches, training runs, or goals in sight.  Yes, we do run to button our jeans.  And we see this as an admirable goal for 40+ pre-menopausal women.  The run is simply a formality.  At the end of the day, we are accountability partners to each other on the run and in life.  As for me, from the outside it could easily be assumed that I lead a complicated existence.  I date a guy from Denver (and running parter, mind you), travel often, have a fulfilling career, and co-parent three busy boys who in turn are juggling two homes.  But my life couldn't be more simple and filled with happiness.  As with my life, my runs are also back to simple and simple feels very good to me. 

"The Fab Four" ~ Kristi, Cindy, Sandy and Tam ~ 3/15/11

Monday, March 7, 2011

30 Years of Running...Fun, Family, Friends and Fashion (Part II)

College started for me in the fall of 1985.  One afternoon after class I noticed the Westmar track team gathered in the dorm lobby for a training run.  Among the swarm of runners, I spied my friend, Larry Uhl.  Catching Larry's eye gave me added comfort and courage to grab my running shoes and join them.  I now was a "walk-on" to the track team.  Although the training runs were fun and Larry pure entertainment (this was back in Larry's Afro days), the first track meet was an eye opener for me.  I didn't take the training seriously and I believe I was lapped at least twice (small indoor track, mind you) in the one mile run by two very thin athletic girls with long blond pony tails.  I would tell you the color of their eyes and the prettiness of their faces, but I never saw such a thing as my view was trailing their behinds.  I slowly retired from the Westmar track team after this less than stellar outing.  This brought an abrupt end to my college athletic career.  And I can not tell a lie; I did not return my fleece lined track warm up.  I have always felt a bit guilty about this.  But since the college shut down within a few years after my graduation; I didn't have an outlet to correct my wrong doing of the past.  I have since given it to Goodwill out of guilt.

I am second from the left, front row, big hair.

Yes, I do have to own the pathetic fact that I fell in the majority of freshmen girls who gained the "freshman 15" (or some number around there).  There was not a lot of running the second semester of my freshman year.  But a summer at home got me back on track and resurrected my Remsen running routine.  Fresh faced, back in shape, and ready to conquer my Sophomore year, I began a new running routine in LeMars, my college town.  After I met Scott (and his friend, B.L.) and we started dating, he and B.L. would join me on my runs.  They were both wrestlers and professed to their training plan and quest to stay in peak shape.  As Scott and my relationship progressed, he didn't feel the need to impress me anymore.  It was then that he and B.L. confessed that they both hated running.  There was no more of Scott impressing me or B.L. taking one for the team.  I was once again a solo runner.


I am the smiling runner with turquoise shorts :)
Following graduation, Scott and I moved to Omaha.  Other than a few of Scott's family members, I knew no one.  A friend from college encouraged me to find and join a local running group.  She assured me that almost every major city had a running club and it was something I should look into.   So, pre-Internet and Google,  I found the "Omaha Running Club" in the phone book yellow pages and left a message inquiring about membership on their hot line.  Within a two year time span, I become a very active member in ORC.  I ran and volunteered at races weekly, joined with their monthly "Ladies of the Evening" running group, sat on their board of director's, and eventually was voted in as club president.  Although following the birth of baby #2, my participation came to an abrupt halt; I have many life long friends from ORC, great memories, and the honor of being named a Lifetime Member.  My ORC years were not about logging in miles, but how fast I ran the miles and beating my personal best times.  I believe my fastest 5K was just over 21 minutes (somewhere in between the births of Zach and Ben).  It was all about running fast and collecting race t-shirts from the variety of races entered.  I would  wear those heavy 100% cotton over sized t-shirts on most runs (dry fit anyone??) matched with colorful shorts.  It was during this time period that my parents bought me one of the best presents (or better phrased...most used present) I ever received:  a baby runner as a Mother's Day gift in 1993.  Zach was 4 weeks old.



Zach and me (1993)
I had to wait a couple of weeks before testing out my new gift.  The pediatrician advised me to wait until Zach was 6 weeks old before allowing him to ride in the runner (neck strength).  I was so excited, waiting for the day of freedom where I could take my little bundle of joy out into the fresh air and enjoy a run together.  The day came and I had little Zach Man decked out in his best outfit...including shoes (the need at 6 weeks??  good question) and a matching hat; ready to be an "easy rider".  It was glorious.  He loved it.  My only regret is not putting an odometer on this mobile invention.  I can't even begin to guess the number of miles logged by the time I retired it fourteen years and three kids later.


Each kid showed their individual personality as my sidekick in the runner.  Zach was always the perfect first child as my companion; rarely fussed and enjoyed the ride.  Since he was my only at the time, we had the benefit of running free whenever I felt the urge.  Benny, on the other hand, was a wild man and constant entertainer.  As a chubby infant with a big smile, he caught every one's eye and attention.  As a toddler, he almost always brought a form of food or refreshment with him.  Favorite memories are of Ben in the runner sucking on a popsicle or lollipop.  Once he brought a piece of cake on a plate and ate it with a plastic fork as I pushed him on a run.  People would just bust a gut when they saw me slaving over pushing this smiley guy while he savored his sweets.  As for Grant, I couldn't get him out of the runner.  I believe he was seven when I finally had to point out to him the fine print with weight limit restrictions.  Only then could I convince him that he was, in fact, too old and too heavy to safely ride in this contraption.


Some hugs after a run
After my ORC days and with Ben as a toddler and me busy as a working mom with two boys, I was back to solo running.  I would squeeze in runs when I could around my family's busy schedule.  After enjoying the camaraderie of running with others, it was a bit lonely to be back at it alone again (adult interaction, that is).  My prayers were answered on a chance run in with an old friend at the gym.  I had know Angy for years; she grew up in LeMars and we shared the same babysitter when our oldest children were infants.  Angy just had her third child and was telling me how she was back running again.  She ran with two other moms in her neighborhood at wee hours of the morning before the kids or husbands were even awake; did I want to join them?  And that is where the early morning runs began for me.  It started with this small group of moms running a five mile route at 5:30 on weekday mornings.  The core three runners were Angy, Kristi and myself.  We were three small town Iowa girls of the same age and with kids of the same age.  Our conversations centered around potty training, child bearing, terrible twos, spouses, work and life in general.  Eventually the run was merely a formality.  It was the friendship and conversations with my running comrades that got me out of bed in the morning and gave me strength of mind in addition to benefiting my physical well being.

Over the next few years I had baby #3 and this morning running group went through many phases, changes and people.  We would invite other friends and acquaintances to join us on our morning runs.  Some stuck with it and others moved on for various reasons.  On the rare occasions when we would get out as a group for dinner or a drink, we would stare at each other in dismay at our "day looks".  We marveled at how well we all "cleaned up".  You see, running at 5:30 does not include cute running clothes or any primping.  Kristi's claim to fame is the "dance, dance, dance" shirt she has owned since high school drill team that she sports on our runs (vintage = hip?...maybe).  And although I do brush my teeth prior to running, Kristi outdoes me by putting on deodorant; an extra step that I do not take at 5:15 a.m..   Needless to say we are a sight for sore eyes on our morning runs.  There is no glam, but instead a lot of outdated running clothes and wayward hair.  But the conversation and story sharing are top notch. 

(Part III will follow...midlife and beyond)

Sunday, March 6, 2011

30 Years of Running...Fun, Family, Friends and Fashion (Part I)

Dad in his barber shop
Running became a part of my life in 1979.  I believe it was officially called jogging at that time.  Jogging was the rage and my dad decided to give it a try.  He was always one for exercise.  So at the age of twelve and as my dad's "after work sidekick", I decided to join him.  You see, being my dad's sidekick came with perks.  My dad was the town barber and on many days, weather permitting and pre-adolescence, I would ride my bike to his shop at the end of his work day.  Timing my entrance with his wrapping up the last haircut was crucial, as Dad was sure to take care of every customer regardless of the time.

Dad's four block commute to work was on his bicycle.  When I would join him for the ride home, his daily routine always involved picking up the mail at the post office.  Past that, there were typically three adventure options on our ride home together.  One was to stop at our elderly neighbor's house (he was over 100 yrs old...true story) to check on his well being along with his disabled son who lived with him.  On a lucky day, we would stop by the drive-in and get a soft serve ice cream cone.  And on the REALLY lucky days, we would stop by one of the local bars where I would enjoy a bottled root beer while "bellying" up to the bar.  So when Dad brought up jogging after work, I was game to give it a try.  He had a good history with me on great ideas of things to do together.

So Dad and I started jogging from the alley behind our house.  Our route followed a street heading out of town and began with a climb up the steepest hill in Remsen.  On our first jog, I wore tan corduroy bib overalls (painter's paints style) and dad, a pair of jeans.  We were unaware that special clothing should accompany this new adventure, but quickly learned that modifications to our attire was a necessary adjustment.  My chubby thighs did not bear well with running in cords and I had some nice strawberry chaffing after the first jog to prove this point.  Every night we added distance to our route, but always started by running up that first steep hill.  It was fun.  I liked it.  This form of exercise was much better than the calisthenics we did in gym class.

With the influence of Charlie's Angels in their tight fitting jogging outfits and Kristy McNichol donning her cool and casual sweats, I was alerted to a fashion trend that I was clearly missing out on.  I knew that I too needed a jogging suit.  After perusing the JC Penny's catalog, I saw many varieties that mirrored the ones that Kelly (my favorite angel) wore.  For those who read my "Big Bird" blog, you are keenly aware that my mom made most of my clothing as a child.  But jogging outfits did not fit in her repertoire of sewing abilities, so we decided that store bought was the way to go on this item.  The prospect of me joining junior high track and my convincing her of my need for this jogging "uniform" resulted in a jogging suit being added to the list for her next out-of-town shopping trip.

My mistake was not showing Mom specifically what I had in mind for a jogging suit (i.e. my findings in the JC Penney's catalog).  My exact words to Mom on what I wanted were "surprise me".  What I meant was the color as I thought all jogging suits mirrored those that the Angels wore and the ones in the catalog; you know...red/blue/black, racing stripe down the side, and tight fitting.  So my mom did follow through with a surprise, but not the surprise I was looking for.  She came home with a jogging suit in forest green with mint green accents in strange geometrical patterns.  It was tight fitting, made me look chubby (who would have thought that I wouldn't instantly look like Jaclyn Smith!), and was completely different from all the other girls on the track team.  Again, my mom was ahead of her time as this would have been a sensation in the mid 80's.  Not so much in 1980.

Of course I wore the ugly sweat suit through junior high track.  The chubby look motivated me to run faster and reduce the girth of the thighs, so ultimately a good purchase if you look at the bright side.  By high school I had my own job at the drive in (now serving my dad ice cream cones after work).  With my own job came my own money which directly resulted in me purchasing and making my own clothing choices (whew!).  So I bought the short (very short) silky running shorts.  This was the early 80's and I think my brother, Matt, had basically the same shorts that were even shorter than mine.  I wore a bandanna tied across my forehead to match the shorts (think Olivia Newton-John and "Get Physical") and my striped socks were hiked up to my knees.  By this time my dad had given up jogging because it hurt his knees.  Instead he and my mom took up power walking which became their lifelong exercise of choice.

High school track was an enjoyable experience for me and I was quite good at it.  My races were the 400 and 200 meters.  When I was in Remsen this last summer for my all-school reunion, I saw that my name was still listed in the 1600 meter relay for school record.  Those were really fun times, but I can still so clearly remember the feeling of butterflies in my stomach as I waited for my race to begin.  It is a funny anomaly that I can speak in front of hundreds of people with not a hint of nervousness, but put me front and center for an athletic endeavor and I am a bundle of nerves.  I even ran cross country for a couple of meets, but need to call a spade a spade on this one.  My motivation was to qualify for districts so I could hold hands with my boyfriend on the very long bus ride to and from the meet.  Indeed I did qualify and yes, I did enjoy the bus ride.



I continued to run "my route" through Remsen based on what my dad and I had mapped out at the start of our jogging adventure.  It ultimately spanned to two miles and I always ran for time, trying to beat my last record clocking.  And I would run it at all hours of the day and night.  When I was a Junior I started waitressing Saturday nights at the Golden Pheasant steak house.  My wind down routine after work and after midnight was to run my route.  The local police would keep a watch on me and I would often meet them as I rounded the dark and isolate corner around the Farmer's Co-op.  There was many a night that I was chased down by drunks or yelled at out windows by those enjoying their own late night weekend festivities.  But I was stubborn and I liked to run under the moonlight, so the harassment was well worth the guilty pleasure.  And only in a small town could I get away with this strange routine.

(Part II will follow...college and the 20's)

I am far right of the bottom row (Rocky, Karen and Beth to the left of me)

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Fr. Mike's New Chapter

Today was the final mass celebration for Fr. Mike Swanton as his tenure at St. Wenceslaus Parish has ended.  Father is beginning his new chapter as the pastor in the rural farm communities of Osmond and Randolph, Nebraska; which is quite a change from the Associate Pastor for the 12,000+ parishioners at St. Wenceslaus.  As is fitting with Fr. Mike, this last mass was a kids, all-school mass where he spoke to them on serving others.  Father's faith and Christian approach to real life has always resonated with his audience; old and young.  We will miss him greatly.  There will be many prayers and happy thoughts following Fr. Mike as he begins his journey north out of the bustle of the city and into the tranquility of the farmland.

Father has a great story to tell that exemplifies his passion for his vocation.  This was highlighted in Mike Kelly's story published last month (link below) following a very trying time in our parish.  While serving as the temporary Administrator of our parish, Fr. Mike's loving faith and Christian guidance led us all through some very dark days.

As a believer that we need to pass on the messages that inspire us the most, I am including a recent sermon given by Fr. Mike.  He spoke so eloquently on our Christian role in impacting the lives of others in our own daily lives.  Fr. Mike's message resonates to all Christians of all walks of life.  And although his sermon was targeted to his Catholic audience, the message is universal to all Christians in today's society.  It is a great message..."We are ordinary people who can be extraordinary examples of salt and light for those we meet this week--and every day of our lives."  Every day is an opportunity to pass it forward.


Fr. Mike Swanton Sermon ~ Salt and Light

The Gospel today gives us two very ordinary, yet necessary and important images—salt and light--to help us understand who we are as Catholic Christians.
           
Jesus calls us “salt of the earth.” Before refrigerators were invented, salt was used as a preservative to keep meat from spoiling. Today, we live in a culture which seems to value lower standards of honesty, work habits, morality—our culture is spoiling. Since we are salt of the earth, we are called to preserve others from falling into sin. Catholics are called to raise the standard—in our speech, conduct, and even our thoughts. We don’t have to be part of the crowd that admires the lowest common denominator. Catholics challenge others, to protect ourselves and others from sin --to keep others from going bad. Our positive, life-giving, upbeat presence, our ability to love others as God loves, makes it easier for everyone to be good.

The most obvious quality of salt is that it gives food flavor.…What salt is to food is what being Catholic is to life. Catholics who carry an attitude of joy and gratefulness and suffer without complaining are salt of the earth. They are people we can trust and confide in. They offer creative solutions that build up others. They are talented in music, art, theater and sports. They give life to life.

However, salt can lose its taste. It can turn bad. When we grow weak in our faith, sin creeps in. We lose our life, our taste; and this is bad for ourselves and for our family and friends. We don’t set a good example, we become unhappy; or we can become grumpy, gripe, cut others down and be negative. This taste of salt goes flat.

But when we allow God to work in us through the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we can regain that taste and return to our former state of holiness. Jesus is salt of the earth that preserves us from eternal corruption and guarantees eternal life. He is constantly giving us this gift. We just have to say “yes” and receive it.

God gives flavor and meaning to our lives because he is the author of life. We are attracted to goodness, truth, and beauty because that is what we were made for. We are made to be with God. We are meant to be salt of the earth. We’re not meant to look pretty on the table of life, but to be shared with others.

Light—I’m solar powered…I need the sun. When the sun doesn’t shine, I drag, can’t get out of bed, have no energy and am not as jovial as usual. Light gives me energy, life and strength.

We are the light of the world
This is the highest compliment paid to a Christian, since Jesus said that HE was the “light of the world.” Jesus demands that we be like him. The radiance which shines from the Catholic Christian comes from the presence of Christ within.
A light is meant to be seen
A Catholic is meant to be seen—by the hope we show others, the joy we display, our perseverance in times of difficulty, saying grace in public and sharing our gifts with others. There is no such thing as private discipleship or being separate or individualistic. We are meant to be relational, a community, the Body of Christ. We are all about unity, and should be on the same page in faith and morals.

A light is meant to be shared with others
Jesus didn’t say, “You are the light of the Church”. He said, “You are the light of the WORLD.” It should be visible in our normal activities. …the way we treat someone at work or at home, in the parking lot, the language we use, and what we read or watch on TV. People should be able to observe our happiness, our love of love others, our empathy with those going through difficult times.

A light is a guide
Light makes it easy to see and takes away the darkness. A Catholic makes the way clear for others:
1. Church leaders can give the world a voice instead of being written off as not with the times.
2. Politicians can stand up for particular issues instead of being wishy washy.
3. The world needs Catholics who are prepared to lead good and holy lives.

We are called to be leaders in faith and morals by walking the walk and talking the talk. Those who know their faith well should step up and teach others or defend the Faith. When we do good, when we lead lives of goodness, people will be attracted to us and say, “I want what he/she has. I want that kind of love, faith, hope, truth, that peace of mind and heart. We should recognize that all good comes from God—not us--but Jesus living in us and working through us, making us the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

When we live as faithful Catholics, we preserve ourselves and others from sin and those things that are negative and against Christian values. When we live as faithful Catholics, we become more fully the spice of life for others by our joy and positive actions. We can be a light that can be seen for others by taking the courage to stand up for our Faith in public and private situations. In doing so, we share ourselves with others and become a guide in faith and morals.

The ordinary images of salt and light are rich in meaning. We are ordinary people who can be extraordinary examples of salt and light for those we meet this week--and every day of our lives.