Scotland

Between my new-found obsession with the Outlander books and TV show, and my recently taking notice of Scotland's upcoming election to determine whether they will go for independence (here's a great link about why you should care), I have Scotland on the brain.

When I was seven, I had a dream one night that I went to Scotland. Of course, I knew nothing of the place, except that there was some sort of Loch Ness Monster there, and bagpipes. In my dream, it looked pretty much like my own neighborhood. When I woke up, however, I was determined to someday see the place.

I got my opportunity in 1999, as a 20-year-old college student spending a semester in London. While my cohorts went to Amsterdam for the "culture," I headed north on BritRail to the land of 1/4 of my ancestors, most notably John Savage Cooper, my great-great-grandfather.

Scotland is a beautiful place, and I've always felt so lucky I got to see it--twice! Once in March 1999, and again in May that year, when I took my parents to see it at the end of London Semester. I did not go back in 2004-2005, and sometimes I regret that I didn't. I'm convinced, however, that I will go back someday.

My pictures were taken on film back then, of course, but I once scanned a few, and tonight I dragged out my London Semester scrapbook and took some pictures of pictures with my iPhone.

A Heelan Coo (Highland Cow) post card.

Holyroodhouse, which features prominently in the 2nd
Outlander book.

Dad and I at Edinburgh Castle

Scottish ducks!

Mom and Dad on a boat on Loch Ness.

Some scans:

The Caledonian Canal at the Fort Augustus end of Loch Ness.

Fort Augustus

This apparently didn't scan well, but that's Inverness. 

Castle Urquhart (ruins) on Loch Ness.

Loch Ness

Twenty-year-old Meg by the ruins of Castle Urquhart.

Whatever happens with the independence vote, Scotland will always be a special, beautiful place.

Adventures In Hydrating

The theme of my running in Summer 2014 has been Hydration. As my mileage increased, so did my need for liquid replacement. I finished my first 8-miler with a long, drunken-weaving walk home, because I hadn't pre-hydrated for fear of needing to urinate during my run, or taken any water with me. As I washed the dried salt off my skin in the shower, I thought to myself, "Lesson learned."

So I bought a water bottle.

 And it was good.

And, of course, I asked Matt for advice, which sent me running out again to buy gels and chews and beans and tablets and Gatorade.

I liked my new water bottle.

But as my runs got even longer, I realized it wasn't enough. Pre-hydrating with 16 ounces of half water, half Gatorade, and a little 9-ounce bottle on the road, just wasn't going to cut it.

So I bought a belt.

The belt has two 9-ounce water bottles. When I drink that 16 ounces before a run, and take the belt and some GuChomps (I discovered quite quickly that the gels are...ugh), I can make it through a 10-mile run without a problem.

So today, I set off for my long run, even though I was feeling a little bit tired (I blame Diana Gabaldon and her addictive Outlander book series). I figured if I got about eight miles, that would be good. I dutifully drank my pre-run Gatorade mix, and filled up the bottles for my belt. The run itself kinda sucked--I was slow and sluggish--but I was determined to finish.

About four miles into the run, I noticed a slight feeling of needing to go. Instead of stopping at the golf course restroom at the half-way point, I decided to run on. I've had that niggling feeling before and been fine. The more I sweat, the less I need to pee, etc.

But I wasn't fine. With each mile, my need got a little worse, and by mile 7, I was eyeing some thick shrubbery and thinking, "Who would know?" There weren't too many people out...

I couldn't do it. It would be just my luck that a cop would be nearby, watching me crawl into the bushes while pulling on my leggings, or that I'd wade in there and find myself peeing on a nest of alarmed rattlesnakes.

So I kept running.

I even considered letting little trickles out every so often, figuring by the time I got home, I'd be a little dryer and I could pass it off as sweat before boiling my running leggings in the washing machine.

Hey, runners are gross. Get over it.

In the end, I just couldn't risk public indecency charges, rattlesnake bites on my bum, or ruining my beloved Brooks shoes with urine. So I just kept running. And muttering to myself.

Finally, finally, I reached my finish line. Now, when I finish a run, I have a 1.67-mile walk home (mostly uphill), and as I reached the light pole I always tap as I slow to a walk, I thought, "Hey, I feel okay. I can walk home..." This was followed by a sudden, overwhelming need to go that had me crossing my legs and fighting not to cover my hoo-hah with my hands in the middle of a busy intersection. Obviously, this was getting desperate.

Well, what do I live with my parents for, anyway? I've lost count of the times I've driven them to meet a bus to the airport, or driven all the way to the airport itself to pick them up. I called home on my cell phone. Dad answered quickly.

"Hi. It's me. I...Well, can you come get me at the elementary school? I'm okay, I just really need to go to the bathroom and I won't make it home walking."

Dad, on the edge of laughter, agreed. "Give me five minutes," he said.

I jog-hopped to the elementary school, a few blocks away, and got there in time to see his car coming down the hill. From the school, it's five minutes home in a car, but more like 30 minutes walking (post-run slog, uphill).

Dad was not afraid to let me know he found my situation humorous. We laughed a little as I exclaimed, "I didn't do anything different this morning!"

As we neared home, I put a hand on his arm and said, "Daddy, I so appreciate you."

He just smiled, looking straight ahead, and replied, in that timeless, loving father way, "This is going on Facebook."

And the blog, Daddy. And the blog.

My Week in Instagram (Week #93)

For a short week, it was exhausting. I was a heap of Zzzz's by Friday.

Sunday:

Sunday Runday: I ran almost 11 miles and had to stop after
to massage my calves. 

Aside from that, I felt awesome.

Saw this with Meghan and The Roz. It was TERRIBLE.
So bad. And yet...nostalgia.

 Monday:

I made carrot-zucchini fritters topped with sea salt. Delish.

Spinach-asparagus-feta quiche

Taking a break from meowing loudly at me.

Watching TV.

Bella Blue

Tuesday:

I wore my new ballet flats and holy cow, I love them.

I bought a Brita pitcher for my office. BEST purchase ever.

Even a bun cannot hide that I managed to make my hair
purple on the weekend.

Finished Dragonfly in Amber and went on to Voyager.

Wednesday:

Purple hair in the sunshine.

Cleanest Mazda in the West, thanks to a car wash coupon
I purchased from the marching band.

A booster meeting had me sitting around at school, so I read.

Then I cleaned up my desk.

Thursday:

Thursday afternoon trip to JoAnn so my choir kids can make
a solar system for the lobby at Come Fly With Me.

Found in the dollar bins. Yes, I did. His name is Hootie
Swimmy.

Friday:

Friday morning dead lifts.

Supporting my choir program. Twenty bucks, if you want one.

After school, my kids made some props.

Hot air balloons.

These are some great kids. They even cleaned up their mess
before leaving.

Friday was sweet Millie Joyful's 15th (!!) birthday.

Saturday:

While cleaning, I stopped to take a pic of my favorite Snoopy
piece.

Later, I had some candy corn.

Yup.

Mom made ribs for dinner.

YUM.

Mysterious cut on finger deserves an Angry Birds bandage.

The purple in my hair seems to be fading slowly as I wash it and wash it again, so it should be that nice "black cherry" the package promised soon. In the mean time, I'm watching my Niners beat some Cowboy butt today, and looking forward to another busy week. Off we go!

Working On Labor Day

Happy Labor Day!

For some, this means an all-out rest from the daily rat race, and I am happy to honor that. However, I'll be working today--only a little, but still. I have a few lesson plans to write up, some paperwork I want to get done, and frankly, it's nice to know I can sip hot tea and work in my pajamas, taking frequent breaks to cuddle with Millie. I figure if I put in a couple of hours today, it will free up time in my week for something I hold even more dear: unionized hours.

See, I'm a union worker (I know, I know, we're dreadful), meaning I have a group that looks out for my best interests. My union would probably frown on me taking time on Labor Day to get some work done, but one reason I do it is so tomorrow, after school, I can leave promptly at 3:00.

Side note: school gets out at 2:35, and I'm pretty sure teachers are obligated to stay 'til 3:00 but even if we're not, no one wants to try getting out of the parking lot one minute sooner than 3:00, and even that is inviting all kinds of road rage. 3:15 is better. 

My job takes up way more time than my paid hours give. Teachers take work home--that's never been a secret. I'm actually pretty lucky in that I don't do a ton of work at home, but then, I don't have quite as much grading to do as say, an English teacher. My job is more endless planning/paperwork for tour, field trips, concerts, etc., most of which is best accomplished at school because of facilities. So, while I'm a part-time employee, I usually show up a good two hours before my first class of the day to allow time for email (which I only check at home under special circumstances and generally ignore on weekends), random paperwork, getting my room ready for the day's lesson, score study, piano practicing, etc.

So if spending some time on paperwork today (need to make a new seating plan for my piano class) allows me to come home at decent times this week, I'm all for it. Hey, I love my job and don't mind all of the attendant paperwork and planning that comes with it. But that doesn't mean I want to be there for hours after school lets out, when I can come home, be with my family, in comfy clothes. It's about finding balance, and I'm thankful, every day, for the union that protects that balance for me.

Happy Labor Day!