Scrappy

I don't sew, but if there's one thing I've learned from living with a quilter, it's that you never through away a usable scrap of fabric. For a while, Mom had various boxes and bags of scraps, until one day when her brilliant daughter (*ahem*) had the brilliant idea to use that old laundry hamper that was about to go to the local charity shop...for the scraps.

Now, when Mom needs a scrap, she can dig through her laundry hamper. Which is exactly what I found her doing a few evenings ago...happily sitting on the floor sorting colors from her scrap hamper.

Sorting by color.

Unsorted.

Millie came exploring.

This is what Mom is working on--she made this awesome block, but it's
1/4 of an inch too small! Ack!

Mine! Cats have no boundaries.

My Third 5K

Today, I ran the Folsom Shamrock 5K in my old hometown. I woke up tired after a so-so night of sleep, and a little nervous from the lack of running I've gotten this week. However, it wasn't raining (yay!) and the sun even peeked out for a while, so I drove to Folsom bright and early to shamrock-and-roll with other running nerds.

The race wasn't terribly well-organized, but I don't hold it against the event organizers. The original organizers were killed in December, and the fact that this race happened at all is due to people stepping up and taking over a few weeks ago so that it could go on. If it started late and the organizers were shorted a box of t-shirts, I don't really care (I never really want the t-shirts anyway).

Part of the route was flooded out, so a quick change was made this morning that had us running across a street. "But don't worry," we were told. "It's not a busy street. You should be fine."

Umm, it was East Bidwell Street, which is a main thoroughfare through the main business district of Folsom, but we all made it across with no incident. I had to laugh, though, when I got to it and thought, "Not a busy street?! Hello!"

I don't have my official time yet, or any idea what neighborhood it might be in, except that it had to have been slower than my last race (34:50). I walked a lot this morning, but I don't feel bad. The last time I got outside to run was last Sunday, and aside from a few short warm-up sprints on the treadmill, I've stuck to other forms of cardio this week as the rainy weather drove me indoors.

Overall, it was a good effort. I had some cramping in my calves and since I've arrived home, my glutes and hamstrings have been a bit sore.

Now I need to find a race for April and step up the running times!

My green striped socks clashed with my Mizunos, but I won't run in
any other shoe.

I wore Snoopy and Woodstock on my shirt...

...and Cali Swimmy on my wrist. I don't have the luck of the Irish, but I
do have the luck of the rubber ducky!

Fitspiration Friday

 

I've got a 5K (in the rain) tomorrow...what will you do for your body this weekend?

Bruised

I've been driven indoors this week by the crazy rainy weather this part of California was supposed to have in November and December. Back then, I should have been grumbling about the treadmill and not being able to get out and go for a run (and back then, I would have been happy to do the cycle instead...how things can change). But November and December were unseasonably warm and dry, and now March is rainy and dreary.

Anyway, on Tuesday, I found myself wandering into the gym, very much NOT looking forward to doing sprints on the treadmill when I would rather be outside in the (gone far, far away) sunshine running the mean streets of Lincoln. M. the Reasonable was nearby, working out on his own time, so I stopped to ask him if he could recommend any workout that would save me from boring myself to tears on the treadmill. He suggested ten 30-second sets of jump squats and ten 30-second sets of the ropes (think driving a stagecoach, only in the middle of a crowded gym). After ten minutes on the treadmill, I got started, thinking that this would be not only fast, but far more entertaining than endless loops on the treadmill with Fox News and ESPN on the TVs in front of me.

And indeed, it was.

Fast-forward to Wednesday morning, when I woke up with some seriously sore calves from all of those jump squats. I had an appointment with M., so off I went to the gym, moaning slightly with each step. When I got there, I went off in search of a foam roller. Alas...they all seemed to have gone walkabout.

I limped up to the trainer area, where M. was talking to another trainer. He let me borrow one of his own personal rollers, one with little nubby, finger-like things on it that really works those sore muscles. (Like this one.) I spent about 20 minutes rolling my calves over it and letting out little whimpers of pain-pleasure as I worked some of the knots out.

Later, after another intense workout with M., we had a few extra minutes left in my session, so he had me sit down in a chair so he could help me further work the knots in my calves. I got a little worried when he settled himself on the floor, saying, "This is going to hurt a little." But I'm a bad-ass gymbo and I laugh in the face of pain...so I shrugged and relaxed. M. got to work.

HOLY!

There was gasping and hissing on my part, and a lot of apologizing on M.'s. My calves were very tight, indeed, and he was using a technique he's learned to get in there and isolate each little knot to work it. Every once in a while, my trainer--usually so kind and sweet and reasonable!--would let a satisfied little "Oooh, that's a good one!" slip out of his mouth as he tackled a particularly painful knot the size of a basketball. I could only jump about a foot off the chair and gasp incoherently.

The whole process was very uncomfortable, and it left me bruised and sore today, but it works. I'm nowhere near as tight as I was.

But yes, I did say "bruised." See?

Admit it, you love my purple striped pajama pants.

Today, I arrived at the gym again, having just passed my state exam (yes, yes, I passed, mazel tov to me and all that) and feeling 14 different kinds of exhausted. Again, the thought of climbing aboard a treadmill left me wanting to chew rusty nails instead, so when I had a chance to seek M.'s advice, I did.

"How about Tuesday's workout? That was a good one, right?"

"Yes...but my calves are still sore!!! I have M.-finger-shaped bruises on my legs!"

I received a quiet laugh and satisfied smile in response. We agreed that maybe the rowing machine would be fine for today. Before I left, he mentioned a web site I should check out, MobilityWod. It has suggestions for exercises and activities that can increase an athlete's mobility, and he thought I might benefit from going to the very start (a 10-minute squat. Yes. Squatting. For ten minutes. Ten.) and giving it a try.

Well, of course, by the time I got home, I had forgotten the name of the site, so off went a text, and the following conversation ensued:

Meg: Remembered the WOD part, forgot the rest! What is that web site?

MtR: Hi Meg, it's mobility wod

Meg: Thanks, and...Holy 10 min squat, Batman! Challenge accepted.

MtR: Nice! It's a killer.

See, I may whine about the pain, and the bruises, and the associated discomforts of working out...but deep down, I'm always asking for just a little more.

Grandpa Bean

Today would have been my grandfather's 97th birthday, had he lived this long. Grandma and Grandpa Bean were a huge part of my earliest years; very few childhood memories don't include them. They were of that Greatest Generation that has been dying off in the last twenty years; the generation that rolled up their sleeves and fought a massive world war simply because it needed to be done.

Grandpa Bean was not a particularly educated man. He wasn't destined to be a shiny politician or a rich mogul. He was simply a hard-working, honest man who saved and spent wisely his whole life. The grandfather I knew was quiet, but he loved Aaron and I and seemed to enjoy our antics. He was able to enjoy his retirement because he had worked hard all of his life, even doing jobs he may not particularly have wanted to do.

A couple of evenings ago, Mom, Dad and I got into a discussion about a couple of books I read recently, both set in World War Two. The conversation moved on to a discussion about how fascinating that time in history is; how incredible that so many atrocities and shameful historical incidents like the Holocaust and the many atrocities of that time could occur (even, yes, in the United States, with the Japanese Internment) and yet, so many regular people could stand up and fight for others.

Grandpa Bean, and my Grandpa Cooper, as well, were both too old to go off to war, but both joined the military effort here at home. I'm sure neither particularly wanted to be soldiers--they had wives and families to think about--but the need was there, and they just rolled up their sleeves and did what needed to be done.

I started thinking about this last night. I have, of course, been self-absorbed of late about my own career prospects the last few weeks. For whatever reason, I am stubbornly clinging to this attitude that I will not like my new gig, selling insurance. My gut has been telling me it's all wrong, it's not a "good fit," and I'm honestly and truly terrified to go for it. But something occurred to me last night. What would Grandpa Bean have done in my situation? If faced with very few job prospects in his usual field, and an opportunity to start making a living in a new field he didn't particularly want anything to do with, what would he have done?

Simple: He would have taken the job, and done his best at it. He would have been glad to have something to pay the bills and keep food on the table.

And I am, too. Deep down, the thought of having an income, not to mention a purpose, again, is satisfying. I can't necessarily help that twisty feeling inside that I won't be happy doing it, but I can go in with the attitude of, "I will do this because I must. And something that is even better for me may come along soon." As one very wise friend pointed out last night, just having a job will make me appear more employable to the rest of the world than being unemployed does. So maybe taking on this job I don't really want will be the catalyst towards moving me out of two years of stagnation and unemployment to something that is even better for me.

I have very little hope that education will be a door that is open to me this year. Every day, I hopefully check Ed-Join, and there are so few jobs, and I know there are so many unemployed teachers in this state. But perhaps, as I get out in the community selling for my new job, a more reliable career path will be opened to me. I'm hopeful that opportunities will start appearing so that I can grab hold of them.

In the mean time, I need to take a lesson out of Grandpa Bean's book. I need to roll up my sleeves and do what needs to be done.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa. Thanks for being a great example.

Grandma Bean, my Aunt Donna holding my mom, and Grandpa Bean.
Circa 1946-47

This must have been taken in the 1960s.

This would have been sometime between 1987 and 1991, in our home
in Folsom.

August 1978

Monday Music: NEW Keane

This album isn't even released yet--not so much as a single! But somehow, this song has leaked and everyone seems to have it. I absolutely adore it and can't wait for the rest of the album to drop here in the US on May 8 (my Keane-o-versary, too!).

Anyway, while I mop up the drool over this awesome song--the piano! The synth! The vocals! The lyrics! SO AWESOME!!!--please, enjoy the video someone has thoughtfully provided.

Sunday Review

It's been ages since I've done a Sunday Review!

I've recently read two books that warrant a mention--Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay and Hotel On the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. Both books go back and forth between World War Two and modern-day, and both books center around the horrors that Allied countries helped to inflict on two distinct races of people.

Sarah's Key spent some time on the New York Times Best-Seller list; I've seen it on display at Target and Barnes and Noble for so long, and I was intrigued by it, but never committed to buying it until December, when I bought it as a Christmas present for Mom. I figured she would probably enjoy it, and I could borrow it when she finished--a perfect gift, right? A book that a mother and daughter can share.

The story starts in July 1942, in the heart of Paris, where Sarah, a 10-year-old Jewish girl, is rounded up with her parents--by the French police, not the Nazis. The incident, known as the Vel' d'Hiv Roundup, is a little-discussed incident in French history that tends to be loosely passed off as a Nazi horror, but was, in fact, perpetrated by the French police. Sarah, in a desperate attempt to save her 4-year-old brother, and convinced that she will be returned home later in the day, locks him in a secret cupboard in the bedroom of their Paris apartment, keeping the key with her as the rest of her story unfolds.

The book alternates chapters between 1942 and 2002, the 60th anniversary of the roundup, which is covered by an American journalist living in Paris. Julia Jarmond is approaching middle age, married to a charming but difficult Frenchman and raising her preteen daughter. They are set to move into her grandmother-in-law's recently vacated Paris apartment as Julia researches the tragic circumstances surrounding Vil' d'Hiv, and suddenly, a stunning connection between Sarah and Julia's in-laws comes to light.

Sarah's Key is heartbreaking and unforgettable, and it was difficult to put down. It's not an easy read, emotionally, but if, like me, you are fascinated by the World War Two era, it's well worth finding a copy. I enjoyed de Rosnay's writing style, especially the back-and-forth between the two time periods, as it made the horrors of Sarah's story jar even more against the life that Julia lives in modern Paris.


Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet takes place in Seattle, going back and forth between 1942, when Henry Lee is a 12-year-old Chinese boy befriending and falling for Keiko, a Japanese classmate, and 1986, when he is a middle-aged man reeling from the death of his wife and being revisited by old memories of the terrible injustice that was the internment of Japanese-Americans.


Ford takes the reader through not only the horrifying reality that thousands of innocent Americans were rounded up and taken from everything they knew to live in ramshackle camps, but also the tensions that existed between Americans of Chinese and Japanese descent, the strong sense of family honor that can cause a man to disown his son for having a friend from the Japanese part of town, and an innocent love between to young children through a dark chapter in American history.

Both Sarah's Key and Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet are thoroughly readable page-turners. For those who have a difficult time reading about the Holocaust, I advise care when deciding whether or not to read de Rosnay's book--simply because the story is so heartbreaking.

I read these books one right after the other, and it was interesting to read about the same time period from two completely different perspectives--a ten-year-old Jewish girl witnessing first-hand the horrors of the Holocaust and a 12-year-old Chinese-American boy navigating the racial tensions of being Asian in the United States at the time of the internment. Both stories vividly portray how war and its politics can destroy the innocence of childhood, and both deliver profound messages that encourage the reader not to forget the darker side of our history.

Finding Calm In Stormy Weather

It should be apparent, if you've been keeping up with the LPB, that lately, when I'm not bragging about my fitness accomplishments, I'm stressing out over an upcoming insurance licensing exam I've got this week (Thursday). And a career change. And everything that comes with being a typical Leo, which is a fixed fire sign (Holy Stubborn Streak, Batman!!). For a woman who moved to England to take a teaching position, I am remarkably resistant to change sometimes.

Let's not lie. I'm terrified of starting a new career. What if I hate it? What if I'm bad at it? (Leo pride is famous, you know.) What if I can't manage my time working for myself? What if I can't get my morning workouts in? What if?!?!

I have this tendency to worry about things long before I need to--I realized that this week and I'm consciously making an effort to knock it off.

I'll let you know how I do.

The good news is that I have a lot of fantastic, stabilizing influences in my life--friends, family, my cats, running, and my twice-weekly workouts with M. the Reasonable. Choir. Listening to Keane. Angry Birds on my Kindle. Reading romance novels. (Don't judge. It's escapism.)

The even better news is that while I have my moments of anxiety and I've had a few too many crying jags in the last few weeks, I'm not balancing on a ledge or anything like that. I'm just stubbornly refusing to admit that hey, maybe this could...you know, turn out alright. Better than alright--maybe even really, really great.

A week or two ago, Mom and I were discussing my lack of belief in myself. Mom said, "Why don't you believe you can do this? Everyone else thinks you can! Why not you?" To which I replied, "Why don't you believe in yourself sometimes? Everyone else thinks you're awesome!" Mom paused, smiled, and replied, "Touche." Turns out that part of being human is being our own worst critics.

As I acknowledge my weaknesses, I find I'm achieving a greater sense of calm. I've been able to really focus this weekend on the online course, and I'm not a basket case over wrong answers and my own perceived lack of understanding. I'm learning the tricks of the questions and how to read and look for context clues (something I spent 8 of the last 10 years teaching my students to do, how 'bout that?) and I'm finding that so much of it is common sense and careful reading...hey, I can do this!

Yesterday, I was driving from a training with my soon-to-be company to the gym when up ahead I saw a car with "Trust God" scrawled on its back window. Normally, I roll my eyes at such things, or ignore them all together, but yesterday, I simply smiled. And I thought, "Yeah. Trust God." Yes, my definition of God is, perhaps, different than the (I'm assuming) Christian driver of the car ahead...but as I drove towards the gym, a sense of calm settled over me as I realized that as long as I do everything I'm supposed to do--work hard, keep on eye on "my six" when I can, and go out there and do what needs to be done, the universe will return in kind. And when things are difficult, God or the universe still have my back. I just have to trust that all of this is pointing towards something better, and set about making it so.

I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. The new career will either work out, or it won't. The bottom line is, I owe it to myself to give it a try, and to do everything in my power to stay calm. (If you need me, I'll be out running my anxiety off.)

Fitspiration Friday

 

What's it going to be this weekend? Are you going to get out there and do something active?