12 Mega rolls of Charmin

I haven’t written for a while. Mom used to say, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

They say the average person makes 10’s of thousands of decisions every day. I haven’t heard any statistics about the average ratio of good vs. bad decisions.

Friday after work I decided to ride my bike to drop off my cleaning. That was a good call – beautiful weather.
On my way home I decided to stop by Krogers and pick up a few groceries. Good call.

While in the store I decided to buy 12 mega rolls of Charmin. Seemed like a good call until I realized it didn’t fit in any of the bags on my bike.

I decided to try riding home with one hand on the handlebars and the 12 mega rolls tucked under the other arm. Hmmm, after-work traffic, on the bike, one handed. Seemed like a bad idea.

I decided if I fell that on the way down I would work it out so I fell on the Charmin.

I couldn’t decide what exactly the passers-by were thinking when they saw a guy pedaling along with 12 mega rolls of toilet paper tucked under his arm, but I made it home without incident, so it turned out to be a good call, since there was no toilet paper remaining in the house.

I can’t speak to the other 59,994 decisions I made on Friday, but I think these turned out ok.

Perspective

Starting over again has the benefit of seeing things from a fresh perspective. Over the last month or 6 weeks life has been pretty intense. Here are a few observations I have made about Cincinnati, myself, and life in general.

Chili served on top of spaghetti noodles is actually not so bad.
Hard times are harder when you are alone.
Running on hills takes some getting use to, especially running down.
Having a pair of Great Horned Owls hang out in your back yard is pretty cool.
I can hold up under a great deal of personal difficulty, but not without whining.
When you are unemployed two weeks before school starts, any job looks GOOD.
I don’t have tuberculosis.

Noah and I

This post is arriving late, but it has been in my brain for a month, so I’d better write it. As you know, I was in Guatemala and then Mexico right after school let out. I arrived in Dallas on the afternoon of June 25. My neighbor Rhodney picked me up at the airport. I was saying goodbye to my life in Texas and trying not to think about it. I was home just long enough to walk through the house one more time, and around 6 or 7 PM I set out for my new home in Cincinnati.

I hated to say “Goodbye” to Rhodney and Marianne. We had become good friends, and I had imagined us growing old across the alley together – talking as we took out the trash, or finished mowing the yard like you do in North Texas with your alley neighbors. (The driveways are in the back of the house, so you see your neighbor who lives directly behind you more than any other.)

I drove east out of Texas towards Texarkana, and arrived at the border about sunset. Behind me was a beautiful sunset, and I took a picture. The last time I will see the sun set over Texas. It was sort of poetic – you know – parallel with my life.

Ahead of me there was a rainbow. At the time it seemed like a sign – I will never again be destroyed by a flood.

Corn Hole Anyone?

First impressions of Cincinnati.

I now am very well acquainted with our house, having covered every inch of it, including the ceilings with new paint, and re-acquainted with all our possessions, having moved them all many times from box to room to other room to out-of-the-way-so-I-can-paint.

Today I started on the only remaining surfaces by tearing up carpet.

Sometimes I stop moving or painting and leave the house. For example, delivering resumes to people who don’t have job openings. Here’s what I have found.

The founders of West Chester liked cars and roads, but had not been exposed to the concept of sidewalks. There are no sidewalks and few roads have a shoulder. There are a lot of people who live here, therefore a lot of cars. Non automobile travelers (runners and bikers) have to keep their eyes open.

Most of the roads are windy and most of them don’t go anywhere. There are more dead-ends here than a career in the mortgage industry. You can count all the roads in town that go anywhere on your fingers. Google map it and you’ll see.

My first day here I noticed an old, brightly-painted, yellow building. There were various signs on it, labeling it as a drive-through store where you can buy alcohol, snacks, and “Corn Hole Accs.” Right. Corn Hole??? Yesterday I stopped in. It turns out these stores are common out here. People call them a “Brew Thru.” They are, in fact, a drive through convenience store. You drive in and tell the guy what you want (everything from Bud Light to potato chips) and wait in the car while he fetches it.

And Corn Hole? This turns out to be a game. Basically you throw bean bags at a board with a hole in it. Corn Hole Accs (accessories) turn out to be the bean bags.

Brew Thrus and Corn Hole are very popular, sidewalks failed to make the list.

That’s it for tonight.

Still

In retrospect, I didn’t really mean “Happy,” rather, contented or at peace. I’m at peace. (two days…)

Who Knew

I decided to be happy. That was about 10:30 this morning. We’ll see how long it lasts.

One time, after a teacher in-service about being positive, I tried to go an entire day without being critical or negative. I didn’t succeed. Neither did I on the next 30 days, or any single day of the entire school year. However, the concept stuck with me and maybe I moved a little bit in the right direction.

It’s 1:30 and I’m still happy.

I had a job interview yesterday at an arts school in Hamilton. The kids were great, and the facility is very nice. I don’t think I got it. The phone has been silent.

I’ve been trying to reclaim my unwavering faith in God, the kind I felt in my 30’s. In my youth I thought as I grew older it would be easier to believe. As it turns out, for me at least, the opposite is true. I thought the compilation of experiences with God would accumulate, like a hunks of coal in the furnace, each one a chunk of proof, and those experiences would radiate faith throughout my inner being. I thought by now the flame of faith would be so hot I could cruise into old age without doubt, fear, or uncertainty.

My actual experience is sort of like the story of manna. You know, God gave the people bread for the day, no more. Each day, when I wake up, there is a fresh decision to be made – walk with God or without. And while all the reasons I have to believe, gathered over years (now decades) of walking with God have piled up, so have the doubts, contrary evidence, and self will. In short, as I get older I carry more reasons to believe and more reasons not to. The choice remains the same, but the load is heavier.

It is becoming clear that seeking the kind of faith I had in my 30’s is like trying to teach like I did in my 30’s - impossible because I have changed. Life has changed. Faith (at least for me) gets harder instead of easier. Who knew?

OK, so there it is. In this blog I am nothing if not transparent. I, the Tim, have wimpy, moment-by-moment faith. But, in self defense, I will point out that I am in good company. Check out the Elijah of I Kings 18 and the Elijah of I Kings 19, or perhaps the Peter who watched Jesus heal the sick, raise the dead, calm the seas, and the Peter in Caiphas’ garden (or even Peter walking on the water and then drowning in it), or Thomas.

Understanding the situation will help me deal with it.

By the way, I’m still happy – (2:30PM.)

Back to square one

I’m back from Central America. During those 19 days I experienced some of the best days of my life and some of the worst. I am in the process of transcribing my journal which I will post here soon along with some pictures. Let me give you the setup as of the day I left the country.

The week I left was the last week of school. So I had to say good-bye to my students and friends at Reed Elementary, and also get checked out and moved out. Wednesday and Thursday the movers came to our house and moved our stuff to Cincinnati. Katy was home overseeing the movers and preparing for Guatemala. Thursday was the last day of School and we left the country Friday.

The week previously I had been offered a job 4 miles from our new house in Cincinnati. It looked perfect.

I could imagine my nice new life up north as Katy and I flew south. I would get footage of Guatemalan and Mexican music, buy traditional authentic instruments and costumes, and spend the rest of the summer working towards my goal of showing my new students (in person) and others (through video) about music and people around the world.

During my time out of the country my back pack was stolen with all my camera equipment and passport. No more video. A few days later I cut my Achilles and had to get 6 stitches and just sit in a chair for two days. No more trips, no going anywhere, no running for 10 days.

The night I arrived in Ohio I called my new principal and he said another music teacher in the district had chosen to transfer in, and so there was no job for me.

So I spent the last two days unpacking boxes and moving furniture up and down stairs, trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my legs are cut off from under me, and the future is blank. I don’t know how to move forward or where I’m going.

My new friends in Guatemala told me to be patient, to wait for God. I think He is trying to teach me something – maybe dependence on Him. Anyway sitting here, surrounded by mounds of stuff to put away, looking out the window at the daily rain clouds, dreams and goals that seem impossible to pursue, no friends, no job – I think this is about as low as I have been in a long, long time.

But I do have God, and I have Susan, and I have hope. I’m writing these words to mark this day not to complain about my life, but as a benchmark from which to measure what God is going to do from here. I am trying to take steps forward (even though I don’t know what direction forward is) towards a new life in Cincinnati with God.

JOURNAL FROM GUATEMALA

Today we arrived in Chiriyuju. This area is absolutely beautiful. There are mountains, and small, manicured fields of vegetables everywhere. Everything is very green, and there are all kinds of trees.

Angela’s house is on the old Pan American highway, witch turns out to be a one lane dirt road filled with potholes.

We were met by Mauro’s family, and the mayor and two other city officials. Before long the pastor arrived with four or five elders of the church. Then the school principal joined us and the president of the education association, and a teacher. Throughout the morning more family members showed up.

At one point they moved all the chairs and spread long, fragrant pine needles all over the porch and on the floor of Katy and my rooms. It is a tradition of welcoming honored guests. I have never experienced anything like it. As I write my room is filled with the fragrance of pine.

We ate a feast of vegetables, tortillas, and grilled beef. There was some delicious chili salsa, which I spread all over my food. I don’t think they normally eat so much of it, and I caused quite a stir. It seems as though I will be remember in this village a “The chili guy.”

After much talking we went to a meeting of the local coop, the mayor, the city improvement council, and leaders from the school association. The topic was Katy teaching the younger students on Fridays.

It was sort of like a committee meeting except everyone was nice. They have made a really big deal of welcoming Katy to teach here and dream of a day when their children can speak English and reap the benefits thereof.

They expressed their support, and recommended each child pay a small fee – because if you give something away they will take it for granted. People are the same everywhere.

Then we decided to drive to Chimaltenango for chicken and French fries. For families riding in a compact pick-up, most of us in the back. It is the rainy season here. Therefore we pickup-bed-riders, laying all over each other, held a blue plastic tarp overhead for the 30 minute ride home. I think some part of my shoulders and chest stayed dry.

At this point I feel very welcome (having shared food, laughter, committee meetings, and a blue-tarped baptism) and in some weird way a part of the family – even though I was only here one day, can’t speak Spanish, am taller than 5’3”, and eat chili salsa by the spoonful.

SUNDAY
Today is Sunday. I started the day by running down the old Pan American Highway. The Old Pan American Highway turns out to be a narrow, pot hole filled, winding dirt road. It runs right in front of the house I’m living in. It rains every day here, so I picked my way along, dodging mud puddles. I was warmly greeted by people on bikes, on foot, standing by the road, young and old. All were clearly curious. Some applauded. I met a few colorful buses, and some opinionated dogs.

I couldn’t help but compare running on this old, famous road to the Boston Marathon. Like Boston I wondered who passed that way over the years. Like Boston the people were friendly and encouraging. Unlike Boston, the road was narrow, meandering, and the scenery stunning. You’ll have to see the pictures.

The remainder of the morning was spent rehearsing songs to sing in church, hanging with the family, adding words to my “dictionary,” and practicing Spanish.

Church was very intense and passionate. It was my first experience with “Ranchero” Worship Music. On the trip home I shared the pick-up bed (did I mention it is the rainy season?) with three boys from the family, Katy’s guitar, and 5 or 6 other people from another family. Picture a mother in traditional dress standing (yes standing in the wet pick-up bed) with an infant in a blanket on her back, holding an umbrella over her four daughters sitting on a row behind the cab. The oldest daughter steadied her mom by holding her by the skirt.

We spent the evening in the kitchen talking, planning, and singing. Supper was quesadillas and black beans. I feel quite at home, but really tall.

MONDAY

We rode to bus to Chimaltenango. We = Katy, Rebeca, Michelle, and I. There were many, many stops – mostly women and children taking large baskets to market, or on their way to shop. Two young guys took turns transferring the “cargo” from the women’s heads to the top of the bus, minding the door, and helping the driver enter busy streets or back up.

The women wear traditional dress, so it was very colorful. The buses are painted wild, bright colors too, and each bus has its own name, given by the driver I assume. Most of the names are feminine, and are either inspired by the Catholic Church or a girlfriend – it wasn’t always totally clear which.

In Chimaltenango we had a short meet and greet with the Governor of the state, and also the Mayor. The town is very noisy, crowded, and busy. Store displays spill out into the street so signs are superfluous. There are cars (old cars) and buses (old diesel school buses) spewing huge clouds of exhaust (visible and invisible but very, very smelly) everywhere on the narrow streets. Traffic does not stop for or even notice foot traffic, so I almost got smacked a few times. This did not inspire a great deal of confidence in my hosts. (This later played out to be justified.)

On the way back we passed by the market. I couldn’t believe the bus actually drove there – almost touching the store buildings on one side and the market stalls on the other. A lady brought 2 live chickens on the bus.

We arrived home in time for an excellent bunch prepared by Dona Angela. Afterwards we went to the school –Katy’s first day. The teachers had organized a Welcome party. Many of the students participated. It was very moving. Many people spoke kind words, and there were several groups of students doing traditional dances. Have I mentioned it is the rainy season? The dancers performed in the pouring rain. Afterwards Katy talked with students, and we all had coffee with the teachers. There were some students still playing music, and others were dancing. Katy and I also danced - she with a student and I with a teacher. I thought it would be a fun way to connect with the students. It turns out the church doesn’t allow dancing so I hope I didn’t offend anyone or get Katy in trouble.

At the welcoming party I was videotaping so I put Rebeca’s 7 year old son in charge of taking pictures. (Don’t worry Susan – my camera, not yours!) He did a great job. I love the pictures children take.

Anyway, this evening everyone (Walter, Angela, Rebeca, Carlos, Michelle, and Katy) entertained themselves looking at the pictures Carlos took.

Did I mention it is the rainy season? I did, however, ride inside the pick-up to and from school today – after all, only 6 of us were inside.

So Katy has been officially welcomed by 2 mayors, the Pastor, Elders, the entire church, the City Council, the Education Board, Co-op Board, teachers, students, and the Governor. I told her all that’s left are the Rocks and Trees.

I can’t stop eating tortillas, staring at the view, saying “Gracias, muchos gracias,” and taking pictures.

I’m drinking coffee and liking it. Go figure.

TUESDAY

Today is Tuesday. I ran the other direction out of town this morning. It was just as beautiful as the first way. I just can’t stop taking pictures.

At 8:00 Jorge took me on his motorcycle to an ancient ruin called Ixeche. This was the first capital of the Catecan (spelling?) people. It was beautiful, and moving. NO one was there but the two of us, some workers, and loads of singing birds. It was so peaceful.

Then we went to Tecpan. I got some good video from the back of the motorcycle. He took me to Tecpan to purchase a traditional costume of Guatemala. The first stop was the tailor. I got measured, and started into a few conversations in Spanish which I could not finish.

Then we bought the apron in a different store. In that store I filmed a girl weaving the traditional clothing.

Then we went through the market which was very interesting – I got some good footage. Then, by accident, I heard a marimba band. I followed the sound into a store and filmed these 6 guys playing two marimbas. It was awesome. It turns out they are a professional group. I should mention that the marimba is the traditional instrument of Guatemala.

After lunch I went to the field with the family, and hoed a field of sweet peas. It was interesting to see the field and the work. The women went back, and Walter and I worked a while longer. Then Dona Anjela called and made us come in because the rain was coming- did I mention it’s the rainy season- and she was afraid I would get sick.

At about 4:00 we went to school for an interesting town meeting. The people gathered at the school. The mayor was there, and his secretaries at a table taking minutes. There was some joking around, and the atmosphere was friendly. The mayor gave them information about a government program – something about government distribution of fertilizer. Some men asked questions, the mayor answered. At one point he made a call on his cell phone to get an answer.

After a while it was sprinkling so the table with the secretary guys got moved under the awning where the people were standing. Soon it was raining enough that the mayor came up under the awning too. (Somebody always gets wet – it is the rainy season.) After a bit it came to a vote for “15-15” or “20-20.” This took a few tries by show of hands. I think the 15-15’s won it.

Then the rain came pouring down and, even though the meeting was over, no one could leave, they came by foot or bike. Everybody laughed and waited in good humor.

After supper I was logging my video of the day and they all wanted to watch – so I suggested we watch through the TV. The ten of us (4 ladies, 5 children, and me) watched my video of the day.

One of the things that is different here is shared space. I sleep in a room, but it is still shared space. During the day the children come in, anyone can come in. Everyone spends the day together. Of course the kitchen is the central space.

OK, that’s it.

WEDNESDAY

Today is Wednesday.

I had my stuff stolen today. If I wrote about it I could only complain – so I’m going to bed.

THURSDAY

Today is Thursday. We got up before 5:00 and left for Guatemala City at 5:30. Our mission was to get a temporary passport for me. We arrived at the American Embassy at 7:30 and left at 10:15 with passport in hand. There was happiness all around.

Guatemala City:

I won’t say much because I’m trying to remain positive. But, I don’t like Guatemala City. Not one bit. I don’t think I have ever said that about any city I have ever been in anywhere in the world.

Here goes: The buildings are (with a few exceptions) ugly, or boring, dirty, thrown together. The traffic is horrible. All the cars are so old the exhaust is horrible, not to mention the thousands of old diesel buses spewing huge clouds of black smoke. The air is so thick with pollution my eyes were burning and I had a low-grade head-ache the whole time. I never saw a neat or tidy neighborhood or nicely painted building.

Alright, now all of this would normally fall under the category of “interesting” of “different.” But, the city is so unsafe you can’t just walk down the street, or ride the bus. Seriously. We heard accounts like this: Thieves cut off fingers to get rings or hands to get watches. CUT THEM OFF. Robbed at gunpoint and so on.

I don’t like Guatemala City.

From there we drove back to Chimaltenango to run some errands related to the theft yesterday. I should say that Nehemius, Rebeca, Katy and I were in the truck.

Nehemius and Rebeca were so much fun. We soon put the loss of possessions, worry, and long hours on the road behind us, and had a really fun time. We laughed the whole afternoon.

I wanted to buy a traditional set of girls’ clothing, so we stopped off in Cherijuyu to pick up Nehemius’ wife and drove on to Tecpan. Maria and Rebeca helped us find the right stuff in the market, and did the bartering.

Then it poured rain and we got soaked on the way back to the car- even with umbrellas. We came home via the old Pan American Highway – which I wrote about earlier. It is very beautiful and I got a great picture of a yoke of oxen.

I have to stop for a minute to try to explain how gracious and giving all the people have been. The whole family and Nehemias were in Antigua at the time of the theft. They insisted we drive to Guatemala City to try to get a passport right away. Of course the Embassy is a picture of inept beaurocracy, and we had to come back today. That meant the 7 of us spent 6 hours in the cab of a small Toyota pick-up in stinky, crawling traffic. All the while no one complained and they were all so nice.

Then add the time we spent this morning driving to Guatemala City again.

Last night the pastor and his son came over to fix a lock (keys stolen from Katy’s bag) and prayed with us.

Well, anyway, everyone has been amazing and encouraging.

So, then, tonight we got home and Dona Anjela fixed fried plantains- which were awesome. Then we had chicken, fries, and tortillas. After that we had church, and I talked to the musicians about the bajo sexto – a Latin American guitar.

Driving to church goes like this: me in the back with the two little ones. We pass women with baskets on their heads, children in traditional dress, mend riding bikes, motor bikes, pickups (most of them small Toyotas) or walking - all of them carrying hoes or other farm implements. The driver of every vehicle gives a short toot on the horn to every human they meet. We can’t drive faster than 10 MPH because the road is so full of pot holes (deep ones) and you have to avoid running over all the people I mentioned above. There are lots of cargo trucks so you have to pull over (but not too far or you’ll fall in the ditch) and wait for them to squeeze by.

We are driving so slow that I greet and am greeted by all the above people- most of whom are in great spirits, and are intrigued and humored at the sight of the gringo riding in back.

We always end up with more people in the back than we started out with - stopping to give a ride to some pedestrian.

All of this takes place on the muddy, puddle filled Old Pan Am Highway – (Did I mention it is the rainy season?)

We ended the day at about 9:00 (after coffee, cookies, conversation, and poems by Carlitos – age 6 or 7) with an earth quake. The tremor shook the house pretty good. It felt like being on the ocean for about 2 or 3 seconds.

Well, that’s it.

FRIDAY

I started the day with 4 year old Michelle. “We” washed my clothes in the concrete water basic. I ended the day with a very nice doctor. He put stitches in my foot.

In between I ran 9 miles on the Old Pan Am Highway, past Jorge’s summer cabin, through the next village, down the big hill, past the wheat mill to the fork in the road to Patzan and then turned around. I’m getting pretty familiar with this place.

I spent the afternoon in the field with the family scraping the weeds out from around a field of lettuce. It was fun to work together.

We left there to go visiting and I cut my foot getting out of the back of the pick up. Don’t ask me how I did it, lots of people looked at what happened and it was generally agreed upon to be a miracle – impossible by human standards.

That led to yet another trip in the Toyota – 8 of us – to the hospital in Chimaltenango. Six stitches, a boat-load of advice, a late supper, and much laughter over the events of the day.

I can’t do anything for two days. Hmmmm.

SATURDAY

Today is Saturday. I was bound to my chair because of the stitches. But I had a boat-load of visitors all day. In the morning Bernarda and Rebeca washed my stitches. They were very professional and I don’t think anyone could have done it better.

Then Katy and I talked for a while and afterwards I read some of Shane Claiborn’s book. Then we talked some more. It was good and I think I understand more about Katy’s perspective on Justice etc.

The Pastor, Elders, and Deacons came by to pray for my foot. 12 guys. That was so thoughtful and I was very honored and moved by their show of concern.

Dona Anjela and Rebeca made a delicious dinner of fried chicken and the lima beans from Jorge’s field. (He brought them yesterday.)

After lunch Katy and Rebeca and Michelle went to do chores around town and I read some more and played the guitar and got out my marimba. Jorge came by and we played marimba together. Francisco stopped by – He’s the president of the Education Association. With the help of the dictionary we had a nice conversation. I forgot to say how fun it was to play music w/Jorge. No language barrier there – just friends playing together.

Later Rudi, Fredi, and Wilmer came by and we played marimba too. Then Nehemius and much of his family came by. We tried to talk a bit and then Katy got back so we could have a nice conversation. I think someone else was here too.

Walter and I played guitar (he) and marimba (me) together until nearly supper when Jorge came back from Tecpan with the rest of my traditional costume. Of course I tried it on and everyone was real fun about how cool it looked.

He also gave me a personal souvenir – a vase he made to commemorate his daughter being queen of Chirijuyu. It was an amazing gesture.

Everyone has been so, so nice.

Here’s another quick glimpse at village life: The roads here are all narrow dirt roads. This week they were being repaired. So the men in town volunteered their time to do the handwork alongside the heavy equipment. That way the town didn’t have to pay for a crew to do it. These guys really work together and have a great communal spirit.

SUNDAY

Today is Sunday. I am still grounded. This morning included lots of kids, marimba playing, treatment of my stitches by two different “nurses” and a trip to the cemetery.

Katy and I say “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” in church. I read some this afternoon, and Katy and I had a nice long talk. She’s a gem. We laughed pretty hard at supper, as usual.

At 6:30 there was a service for a woman who died. We just got back – its 10:30. It was very beautiful how the town turned out to honor the dead woman. Hundreds and hundreds. We sat outside under a sort of low porch and under a tarp in the “courtyard” of her house. The most interesting part was the guy who sat by the gate and whacked intruding dogs with a big stick.

Katy and I say again. There was lots of prayers sessions. Here, they pray loudly, passionately, and everybody out loud together at the same time. We sang dozens of hymns – all 4 verses. They sing them sort of drug out, with no apparent awareness of or concern for a steady beat, or meter.

I think I’m the tallest person in town by a foot. Everyone had a pretty good laugh when we stood up to sing because I just missed hitting my head on the beam supporting the roof of the awning. I had to peek down to see the people in the back.

We had the first real sunset today, (it’s the rainy season.) It was nice and I took a picture.

MONDAY

Today is Monday. This morning I packed and helped Katy get started recording her finances.

Rebeca fixed a delicious meal of chicken, rice, and a delicious vegetable sauce.

This afternoon I helped Walter put the posts in for the peas. Katy is at school. She is feeling more in a normal schedule. I think this has been a good transition for her. I think this trip has accomplished the purpose of helping Katy get settled in here in Chirijuyu.

Last Supper

I’m sitting amidst piles of boxes, eating pulled pork and fried okra from “BarB Cutie’s” with a Shiner Bock. It’s not technically my last supper in Texas, but symbolically this is it. I wanted to eat something Texasish. I haven’t searched, but I’m thinking they don’t have fried okra in Cincinnati.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. I won’t miss fried okra anything like I’ll miss my colleagues at school. I have already written what this staff has meant to me. For the last two months I have procrastinated all thoughts of parting. I determined just to enjoy every last day at Reed. Well, tomorrow is the last day. Damn.

They have all been so gracious to me, choosing to look at the positive things I did. They always said the nicest things. I’m pretty much over-rated at school. To me I'm just some guy who tries hard among a staff of people who know what they are doing, and love our students like crazy. Inspirational they are.

I’m hoping I can get through tomorrow without being reduced to a puddle on the floor.

Katy and I are leaving for Guatemala Friday. I’m so proud of her. A parent always hopes their children go beyond them. All three of mine have. I took Katy on a few mission trips, and now she is taking me on one. My purpose is to help get Katy settled, and build relationships with the people of the village. I’m not sure what I’ll actually do, but I hope it includes a little teaching. I also hope I can get footage for a short documentary about village life, textile production in the village, farming, and some local music. I’ve packed my camera, mics, and tripod.

After I leave Guatemala I’ll spend a week in San Miguel, Mexico. Some of my teacher friends invited me to visit them when they go south this summer. It’s a dangerous thing to invite me on a trip like that because I’ll take you up on it!!! I am so excited to go. I have wanted to go to Mexico since high school. Crikey, that’s over 30 years! If things work out, I’ll get to buy an authentic Mexican instrument from the person who made it. I think we’ll see some interesting places. My friends are the most hospitable people I ever met, so it should be fun!

Meanwhile Susan will be in our new Ohio house alone. When I made the plans it seemed like a good idea, I guess I was sort of dragging my feet about leaving here. I think I’ll get a chance to make up for it – our new house needs some remodeling…

I’ve been a little long-winded tonight. I’m not sure I can blog again until I get to Ohio in the 27^th of June. I plan to journal my trip, so when I get back I’ll post an account of my adventures down south.

Better to just Rip it Off

It’s almost ended. My remaining time in Texas can be measured in hours. I have been saying “Good Bye” for three months now – one group of people at a time. It’s like pulling a band-aid off reeeeaaaalllllll slowly.

Today was our last “Rise and Shine” assembly at school. We have a short whole-school assembly at the beginning of every week – birthdays, “character kids,” cleanest room of the week, and the “Whoo Whoo” award (we are the Owls here are Reed), the presentation of which is a riot.

Well, anyway, I made the mistake of looking across the gym at all my students and thinking about our year together. I am going to miss those rascals. I had to dive into the restroom for a tissue so I could operate the sound system for the performance of Ms. Hastin’s class with dry eyes.

I’m such a dweeb.

I decided months ago not to dwell on leaving, but just to make the most of everyday we have together. There will be plenty of time to miss them after I am gone. But that day is almost here, and I don’t like it.

We said good bye to our Small Group from Church last Saturday. Even though we all knew it was coming, I had a hard time with our parting. These friends are so dear, and such great people, we are so much better for having known them.

Balboni's Barbequed Baked Beans

In the end even I liked it.

In the beginning it was just an idea. Then it grew to a spoken goal, “Let’s create a musical together.” As the year rolled forward those 110 4^th graders and I inched ahead, transforming the idea into reality.

Last Thursday we performed it. It seemed to me that all of us; teachers, students, parents, had an experience we will always remember. The students and teachers had worked so hard, the students performed from their hearts, the parents received it so openly - understanding the depth and richness of what their children had experienced.

Personal achievement is wonderful – but group achievement all the more so.

It was called, “A Thief, A Liar, and Some Singing Cows.” Our musical was set in Old Texas. As Billy Bob tries to “get to the bottom” of the why certain things have turned up missing (Including the entire stock of Balboni’s Barbequed Baked Beans) in town the people of Diamondback Springs learn that you can’t hide the truth.

Saying Goodbye Sucks

I taught my last private lessons tonight. I’ve been teaching some of these guys for two years now. I had everyone from my 4^th grade neighbor who is studying piano to my 65 year old saxophone student. I’m pretty down about this being the last lesson. There is a special relationship between a teacher and a student. Some lessons ended with a bit of a teary eyed goodbye.

I called Susan after the last one so I would have someone to talk to. That was nice. I decided it was a good night to open the “Young’s Chocolate Stout” I’ve been saving in the fridge along with the chocolate that goes with it. Eventually I had to hang up, and the Stout was gone, so I opened the “Samuel Smith Taddy Porter” that has been waiting next to the Stout in the fridge and opened the smoked almonds I’ve been saving.

Saying Goodbye sucks.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic about the whole thing, but as Solomon wrote, “There is a time for everything.” Tonight is the time for the end of a period in my life – a milestone: the end of one thing anticipating the beginning of another. So tonight I’m marking the end of this part of my life.

I suppose an aching heart is part of being truly alive. A sad parting means there was first a vibrant friendship. How fortunate I have been to have been a meaningful person in people’s lives, to have grown close enough to really know my students, and to be there with them as they grew and discovered the joy of making music and accomplishment, to have been with them to encourage them during failure and struggles and rejoice with them during times of accomplishment and success.

I turned on my “Quiet Music” playlist and decided to get to work on the music for the 4^th grade musical next week. Life goes on….

The Boston Marathon and Other Stuff

I find myself eating supper at the computer, on a break between private lessons, eating the other half of the steak I grilled last night, drinking an excellent pint of St Peter’s Old-Style Porter. I used up all my reserves of patience, kindness, and goodwill toward mankind at school today. Sitting quietly, eating slowly, reading about spring planting and Hilary’s slow but sure demise, squishing my bare toes into the carpet – this feels nice.

I’m alone in my house which is for sale but no one is looking at. Susan has been gone for 6 weeks now, I think, starting our new life in Cincinnati.

Last night I said good bye so a few more of my private students, and next week I will say good bye to the rest of them. For me, leaving Texas has been like slowly peeling off a band-aid. I had no idea how many meaningful relationships I had until they started peeling off one by one. I’ve lost track of teary eyed last words, and there are still many more to go.

Here comes my next student.

OK, I’m back. As I taught we watched the huge hail-slinging tornadic thunderstorm pass by a few miles to the north out the big windows in my office. We lucked out tonight. After I finished teaching I ran 7 miles as the sun set, and the sky grew grey, and the sliver moon came out. I love when the moon is just a sliver like that. It was a good run. I thought some clear thoughts and worked through some things I have been grappling with.

Well, anyway, I have not blogged for a long time. I’ve been working on the musical for the 4^th graders and other urgent things. Tonight those will have to wait. I should write about my trip to Boston.

The Boston Marathon

It was one great day after another. I spent Thursday and Friday with my sister Cathleen. She is an artist, and knows all the amazing places along the coast. So we breathed in the sea air, and looked at beautiful places, and took pictures and film for two full days. We ate at some interesting and fun places. I even took an airplane ride, and met a some guys who restore airplanes. That was a hoot.

Then Susan arrived and we all did Boston on Saturday. I had to pick up my race packet, and so did several thousand other runners, and it was like a big party all over Boston. We walked along some of the “Historic Trail” and got some great pictures, rode the subway, met some interesting people, and had a great day. I think we even went out to the beach in the middle of the night to see the ocean under a full moon.

Sunday we went to New Hampshire and Maine, saw more great sites, and ate at the Maine Diner.

Monday was the race. We got up at 4:30 and left at 5:00. AM! Cathleen drove me to the subway station and I rode in from there. All the runners met downtown and we were bussed out to the starting line. Just imagine how many buses it took to transport 20,000 runners. If you ever want to meet an open, fun, talkative group of people, hang out with runners before a marathon. Everyone is excited and nervous. Everyone has a story, and, after you listen to their’s, most of then want to hear yours too. We left Boston at 6:15.

Once we arrived in Hopkinton we all waited in a large grassy area which they called, “The Athlete’s Village.” It was, in fact, a field between two school buildings lined with porta-potties. We waited and waited and waited. Two and a half hours of waiting, most of it in line at a porta-pottie.

They finally let us walk down toward the starting line, about ½ mile away. By the time I got there I had to go to the bathroom again, so I spent another 20 minutes in line. I left the porta-pottie three minutes before the race was to start. That was a little nerve wracking. I had made a pre-race plan which included tightening my shoe laces once I got to my place at the starting line. Well, I didn’t expect to be so late. So I was in a hurry, and ended up tying my laces too tight, which bothered me the entire race, but I didn’t wan to stop and fix them.

I never did see the guys at the front start the race. The street was packed with people as far as I could see up the hill, but it took us 10 minutes of walking to arrive at the starting line. From that point on, there was a constant stream of people cheering us on. I have never seen anything like it. 26 miles is a long way, and I have no idea how many people it takes to fill both sides of the road for 26 miles, but they were there. And they hollered for us like we were the Kenyans.

For the first 8 miles I was so engaged with the crowd that I kept missing my splits. I was high fiving kids on the side of the road, and looking at everybody. Then I realized that I had better concentrate on the race, so I started to focus on my time and got back on track.

As far as the run itself, there is a lot of pretty steep downhill running for the first 6 miles, and it tore up my quads. I was uncomfortable running down hill the entire race after that. The big hills come between mile 17 and 21, which is, for me, the toughest part of the race. The hills slowed me down a bit, but I felt alright going uphill.

I developed a cramp in my calf around that time, and I was a little worried about it, so I decided not to really push it during the last 5 miles. I was really hurting (well I had already run 21 miles, hadn’t I?) for the last 5 miles, but I always really hurt then. But it was so great to be running and finishing the Boston.

Crossing the finish line was a combination of happiness and pain. I hurt really bad. I couldn't move very fast, and I even had to ask a volunteer to untie my too-tightly- tied shoelaces because I could not even bend over.

But, I was ecstatic. Finishing the Boston was the fulfillment of a dream that started 15 years ago. I had to over come training issues, injury, school schedules, more injuries, and life in general. I have run thousands of miles, many of them long, hard, and lonely. I had to learn how to train, how to rest, how to eat, how to pace myself. I finished but failed at two marathons, one ending up in the emergency room. I qualified once and then disqualified myself by using all my allowed days off from teaching. All of these things came flooding into my mind during the last few blocks as I could see the finish line ahead, and the huge crowd was screaming like I was winning the race, and I ran those last few steps of a long, long, long journey.

I felt very alive.

Well, I walked across Boston Common, took the subway, met Cathleen and Susan, ate some supper, rejoiced a while, got on the plane back to Dallas with a bunch of other marathoners and finally got home at 1:30 in the morning. I scraped myself out of bed in time to get to school. Before school they surprised me. Each class had made a poster for me, and all the students were in the hallways cheering for me. I ran a “Victory Lap” through the school, all the students cheering and high fiving me! I’ve got no words to tell you how moving that was.

You see, during the race, they were all tracking me online, so they knew how I was doing, and when I was finished. The staff made such a big deal of it to the kids, they were just so, so fun. All week everyone was congratulating me and asking questions.

During the marathon I took some video clips of the race, and myself. So I made a short video of it and showed it to all the kids during school the next week. I talked to them about reaching for a big goal, and never giving up.

So you can see, except for the guy who actually won the thing, I think I had the best possible Boston Marathon experience, extending from way before the race to way after.

There is more to say, but I’m not going to say it now.

I wanted to write about my cultural experience last Sunday. I went to Texas Stadium for the big Cinco de Mayo celebration. I sort of expected folk dancing and music. Well, it turned out to be sort of like the State Fair, you know, booths of various kinds, three big stages with big-name groups, carnival rides. There were 100,000 people expected to attend. It turned out to be 99,999 hispanics and me. Who knew? Well, I had a great time. I tried all the various foods including: Elado – a Styrofoam cup filled with corn, sourcream, something else fatty, cheese, and topped with chili. Papas – deep fat fried potato slices with lime and hot pepper. Chicarron con cuerito – a large wafer (probably fried pork fat) topped with cabbage, cheese, peppers, tomatoes, and pork skin. Yes, pork skin. I had some orange “chips” that looked like wagon wheels with hot sauce pour on top. Let’s see, then, of course I had to try a Margarita and various Mexican beers.

I heard three or four cool bands playing ranchero music and wearing white leather pants. I’m not sure I can get used to the star guy in the band, you know, the one every screams at, playing an accordion. There was some very loud Mexican rap, and some young guys doing some random talking/screaming stuff that I didn’t get at all.

Everyone was very friendly, and didn’t seem to mind me being a gringo, although I did get the feeling that they thought I must be lost somehow.

At times I felt very tall.

OK, I’m glad I ignored all the other stuff I had on my list tonight and got this down. I’ll try to get some pictures up tomorrow.

I

Spelling Bee?

After 50 years of life I find most of my days filled with familiar experiences. But occasionally I experience something for the first time. Yesterday I found myself driving to a spelling bee, as a participant, dressed as JR from the TV show “Dallas.”

Who knows what tomorrow might hold - interplanetary space travel, being offered dessert but not eating it, playing my violin in tune?

March 31

I’m Not Kidding

I ran my last 20 miler on Saturday. It took 3 hours. Then, after a little macaroni and tuna I packed and moved boxes for 7 hours straight.

Sunday morning I woke up and stepped on the scale. I had gained 2 pounds.

That ain’t right.

March 24

Spring Break

Spring Break? It was neither spring, nor a break. The first leg was a drive to see Andy and family. What a hoot! We had a great time, and got to spend some time with our grandchildren, the most brilliant, beautiful, charming children on the planet from my objective point of view. It was a warm visit but cold, cold, cold weather.

Then we drove through constant rain to Cincinnati. We moved Susan into her new apartment and looked at a million houses for sale. We took a day off to get lost driving around downtown Cincinnati, have a nice fight about getting lost in the car, look at the Art Museum, the Underground Railroad Museum, and walk around the city center. Then we went to see “Tyler Perry’s Meet the Browns.” This is a Black movie. The theater was mostly filled, and Susan and I were the only white people in the place. What a hoot! They were so funny – interacting with the movie: “Don’t you believe him girl, he’s lying to you,” “Don’t you shot that boy – augghhh!” It was a riot.

I had to run a 20 miler on Saturday. There is a park close to Susan’s apartment with a path about 6 tenths of a mile around. You can run a lot of laps in 3 hours.

It was good to see my new town. I can’t believe we are living in another “I” state…

Kindergarteners don't speak English

Kindergarteners don’t speak English. True, they do know many English words. The fact that they know many English words is misleading, so misleading as to fool the novice into thinking they have communicated with a Kindergartener. Anyone who has ever attempted to give a group of Kindergarteners directions knows that plain English will not be heard, comprehended or acted upon. One has to speak Kindergartenese.

For example, let’s suppose you would like your class to sit close to the movie screen. Now suppose there is a student sitting too far away. The uninitiated might say something like, “Johnny, please move up.” Johnny might just as well be deaf. He isn’t exactly sure where “up” is, but he has an inkling, and he does know he can’t fly.

One might try, “Move forward,” “Please move closer to the screen,” or even “Stand up, walk that way (pointing) and sit down.” All of these will be met with a blank stare, if indeed you can manage eye contact.

First of all, Kindergartenese has no prepositions. In, over, forward, sideways, behind, next to, up, down – none of these words mean anything to a Kindergartener.

Second of all, Johnny is sitting right next to an autoharp. He has never before seen an autoharp, but he is sure that messing with this baby would be a lot more fun than whatever you are going to show on that screen. He has already translated your intentions by non-verbal means and he knows exactly what you want him to do, but speaking to him in plain English will never get that child more than 6 inches away from that autoharp.

Plain English is impotent in such a moment. You have to speak Johnny’s language. First, get eye contact. Second put your hand within one foot of the exact spot you want him to be, point firmly to it, and speak these words, “Johnny, sit here – NOW!”

This he understands.

Just because they don’t speak English doesn’t mean they aren’t smart.

Heaven or Hell?

Yesterday, while curled up in a fetal position on the floor waiting for my body to stop screaming at me, I thought the worst was over.

Then Susan took me to the orchestra.

Their second “piece” was one of those chorus and orchestra combinations. This one by Poulenc. I suppose I’m just not smart enough to understand it. From my chair it sounded pretty much like 100 angry, despondent people shouting a hopeless, anguished diatribe. And no wonder they were upset. There was no melody to be found, only a string of strident, harsh notes accompanied by aimless harmony in search of forward movement but never leading anywhere. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it repeated over and over, stomping it’s musical feet demanding that the listener give in and just feel crappy to the bone. I have no idea what the text was, but it must have been something like, “LIFE SUCKS! YOU SUCK! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU ONLY IMAGINE YOU ARE HAPPY!!! IT’S ALL AN ILLUSION!!!! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU! IN THE FOURTH ROW, PAY ATTENTION!!!!! DON’T YOU KNOW THERE IS NO MEANING TO ANYTHING???!?!?!!? I HHHHAAATTTEEE EEEVVVEEEERRRRYYYYTHHHINNNNGGG!!!

Six movements.

I started to wish I was running again because that did suck but at least I was getting in shape.

But then, after intermission, they played Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Number 4, in F minor. Like a huge eraser, it wiped out all the ugly. In turns thrilling, beautiful, exciting, magnificent, I clung to every note with all I was worth. It was so beautiful that ever since it stopped the whole earth seems beautiful too.

The irony is that Tchaikovsky’s life sort of did suck. I suppose, in a way, our lives are like a concert to the people around us. We have a choice to make others feel like dieing or feel like living.

18 Miles and Girl Scout Cookies

I had to run 18 miles last Saturday. When you run longer than 75 minutes or so your body has used all available food energy and you have to eat something. I was out of the packets of “Goo” that runners eat on long runs so I took some “Thin Mints.” They worked like a charm – I felt great the entire run.

Then I went to the periodontal surgeon on Tuesday who drilled a hole in my jaw and inserted a big metal screw. When I returned to consciousness the nurse told me I couldn’t run for two weeks.

Like that was going to happen.

But she was convincing enough that I didn’t run all week until a 5 miler Friday. Today (Saturday) I was scheduled for 20 miles. What the heck. I loaded up my thin mints and took off.

Yikes.

I ran the first hour realizing that this run was going to get ugly. I ran the second hour with increasingly heavy legs, and the last hour was very, very ugly. I have hurt that bad but I don’t remember when.

I will, however, come hell or high water, be ready for the Boston Marathon.

Snow in Dallas

March 4

Up and down our block you could see people out taking pictures of the snow. I was right there with them. We received a modest 2 or 3 inches here, which is 2 or 3 more than I had seen since coming to Dallas 3 years ago. You would have thought it was a foot.

My 6^th graders begged to go outside to play in it. Poor little deprived Texans. Who knows, I thought, when they will see snow again. So out we went for 10 minutes at the end of class. We all ran around and threw snowballs like a bunch of kids who had never seen snow before. Some of them were. Kids. Who had never seen snow. Ten minutes was long enough to get good and cold and wet.

I wonder when I’ll stop feeling like a kid when it snows. Maybe it was me who really wanted to go outside….

Feb 20

Post t-shirt incident, I have committed further clothing faux pas this week. I am told by my loving wife, that my favorite pants are made of, “Summer weight” material. Who knew? Last I heard, it was only the females whose wardrobe was dictated to by fashion designers. You know, no white shoes before Easter and all that. Apparently wearing the said pants out of season is actually rather offensive - to the female sub-set. This becomes problematic when your workplace is all women.

Now I have a moral dilemma. Before, while I was ignorant, I could wear my cozy linen pants whenever I wanted to, completely oblivious to my fashion sin. Now I am conscious of the “law” and, therefore, knowingly fashion-offensive to some clothing-rule-sensitive people.

It sucks being a person who cares what people think.

In the end, the pants win – at least in Dallas. After all, we don’t really have winter here, just varying shades of summer. They remain in the rotation all year-‘round summer.

Feb 11

I made another T-shirt faux pas. Rats. Life at an elementary school is complicated. There are so many shirts to keep track of. Wednesday is the black one, Monday is the “Team” shirt, and Friday is Spirit Wear. I leave them all at school, so I don’t have to remember before I leave the house. Crickey! I can’t even remember what month it is, let alone which Shirt-day.

Then there are the special weeks, like homecoming and drug week (or is that don’t do drugs week?) and holidays. Elementary teachers have a jillion excuses to put on jeans and a t-shirt. Or slippers, sweats, or pajamas.

Well, I missed an entire t-shirt event this week. Somehow didn’t get in on ordering the shirt, planning to wear it, and wearing it.

There’s no place to hide when you miss a t-shirt day. There I am, slacks and blue dress shirt in the midst of a see of brown crew-necks. Of course, elementary students and teachers have no problem pointing this out: “Where’s your _______ t-shirt Mr. Fuchtman?”

However, the truly dreaded clothing event at an elementary school is dress up day. I have faced mountains, rivers, and oceans with less trepidation than seeing a kindergarten class traipsing my way in cowboy hats, boots, and bandanas. You have no idea what a 5 year old can do to a lesson plan with his bare hands and a cute little cowboy hat.

Just you wait, St. Patrick’s Day is coming up. I’ll be ready.

Feb 4

I travel east in the morning to school. When I ride or bike I see the sunrise developing but I never see the sun. In mid-winter I left my house in the dark, and, if running, arrived just as the sky was waking up. Lately it is brighter.

I am often reminded of CS Lewis who once wrote that faith in God is like pre-dawn. We know there is a sun, not because we see it, but because we see the world around us more clearly.

Great Start

This year is starting out big, right on the heels of Mark shipping off to Iraq, Ian Andrew Fuchtman arriving on the planet, and qualifying for the Boston January has already seen the successful Waltzing incident and yesterday, after several years of waiting, planning, scheming, learning Irish tunes on pennywhistle, saving, shopping, and dreaming I finally did it- I ordered my first set of Uillean bagpipes. Bagpipes. I am ecstatic. So is Susan….

The first step is the hardest

I received my Boston Marathon Acceptance Card in the mail today! I qualified in December, and registered right away, but didn’t receive official word until today. My sister lives close by, so I will have a great chance to see her as well as run the marathon. All I need is buy plane tickets and run 600 miles.

Revenge of the Little People

I wrote my blog last night fully expecting to be writing a long sob-story tonight about the defeat of the waltz experiment. However, those little people turned out to be waltzing geniuses. No kidding, several times during the day I found myself looking out over a sea of young’ns moving all together, gracefully waltzing in unison. Granted, it wasn’t like that all the time, and some of them never ever got one step right the whole time. But at times it was poetry in motion. I wish you could have seen the concentration on their faces as they marked out little boxes with their dancing feet on the gym floor. Especially the 2^nd graders. Those little brains were working overtime!

Like Haley’s Comet, this spectacular event may not occur again for a long, long time. So I’m writing it down tonight to mark the day.

Also, I thought a lot more about the sermon (at least the part I heard) today and very little about the “nail” in that guy’s ear, so maybe God intervened. But I keep wondering what to call that part of you ear that looks like a worm. Does it have a name?

We'll See

Rose colored waltzes
Tomorrow I am going to attempt to teach children to waltz. That will be my part for the infamous “Motion Monday.” I can see the little humans gracefully bobbing to the music, all of them gliding along together, enjoying moving to the music while their young brains make connections between moving, listening, socializing.

Well I can dream, can’t I?

Stay tuned….

Ears to hear
I should have been listening, but it looked like he had a nail sticking out of the back of his ear. This guy was two rows up, directly in my line of sight to the pastor. So shiny it caught my eye, especially when he turned his head so the light hit it square on. Then he turned his head completely to the side and I didn’t see a nail, or a big ear post (or whatever they call that stuff) or anything - just his ear. I couldn’t quit looking, so shiny and metallic. How did it get there? How did it stay there.

Then I noticed how much the edge of a human ear looks like a fat worm. So I started checking out other people’s ears. All the same, like a worm.

Sorry God. I’ll try to pay better attention next week…

Links to family Christmas videos:

http://www.vimeo.com/463586

http://www.vimeo.com/463598

More Catching Up

NEW LIFE

Ian Andrew Fuchtman was born December 17, 2007. Susan and I couldn’t be there, but we did video chat with Andy and family a few hours after the birth. It was so amazing to see them all and talk with them, even if only on the computer screen.

A week later I was holding the little guy in my own hands. He’s beautiful, smart, easy to talk to, loves jazz and Beethoven, and is an avid Bronco fan. (Well, OK, he likes the Packers too.) What more could you ask?

At one point, out of the blue, I had the coolest experience with God. I don’t know why, but the miracle of Ian’s birth and life washed over me and I felt aware of and close to God in a way I haven’t for some time. I thought of the Book, “He is there and He is not silent.” Somehow holding that little guy ripped right through the doubts and haziness which plague me, and my mind was flooded with experiences I have had with God, and the many times He has graciously pursued a relationship with me, and I remembered afresh why I believe.

There is still a huge gap between the way I live and the way I know I should live; between God’s relationship towards me and mine towards God. But, somehow, the fight seems easier today than before.

WAR IS FOR WARRIORS

Mark left for Iraq in early December. How could I ever describe sending my son off to war? I have no ability to describe to you the mixture of pride, fear, adventure, terror, anticipation, sadness, hope, love. At that moment, there is so much to say, and no words can express it.

We have been sending Mark off on adventures for years: to Mongolia, to China, to India. So in some ways, this was familiar territory. But this one is definitely another level altogether.

Throughout the ages young men have gone off to battle and come home stronger, deeper, better people. This is my hope and prayer.

WHITE ROCK MARATHON

On December 9 at 12:34 PM I reached a goal I had been working toward for over 5 years. I crossed the finish line of the White Rock Marathon. That step stopped the clock at 3 hours, 33 minutes, and 33 seconds which was good enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon.

Running a marathon, and in the required time is a huge project, but it turned out to be the easiest step towards my goal. I ran 3:14 in Des Moines in 2004 but couldn’t get off work to run in Boston. (They run it on a Monday.) In both 2005 and 2006 I nearly completed the 16 week training ramp-up when I pulled a muscle and had to stop.

This time around I decided to cut out all fast training (fast, keep in mind, is relative – remember I’m FIFTY years old) and only did easy, tempo, and long runs. That kept me injury-free, but I wondered if it would be enough to meet my time goal. I was prepared mentally too, knowing that the brain can tank a marathon runner as easy as the legs. During the race I thought only positive, happy thoughts – no worries. I gazed around at the turning leaves and beautiful houses, (some of the other runners teased me a bit about site-seeing) chatted with various runners along the way, scampered up the Dolly Partons (two consecutive large hills at mile 19 at which runners are greeted by large men in wigs, dresses and, well, you know) and maintained a positive mind set.

Somewhere around mile 22 things got a little dicey (I’ll spare you the details). At this point in the story I have to tell you that I cannot, no kidding, I cannot do math in my head while I’m running. I checked my stop watch and tried to do the math. I produced a number that was not happy. I tried to do the math again, ending up with a different number, still not a happy one. Several more attempts produced differing results. All of a sudden I was faced with the reality that after all this time, all this careful injury-free training, running 22 positive-in-the-face-of-aching-body miles I could end up missing my time by minutes or even seconds. I chucked the “Positive mindset” and ran like hell.

No worries, I had a full 90 seconds to spare.