caren

5K

Well, I "ran" my first 5K on Saturday. I put the word "run" in quotation marks on purpose because I have decided there should be three categories on the registration form. When I signed up, I could choose to participate either in the 5K walk or the 5K run. I circled the "run" because I had been running lately and knew I could at least run two miles of the race. I was running with one of my very in-shape, competitive friends, and it only took me about ten steps to realize that I needed to let her just go on ahead of me! SO, my idea for a third category is the 5K jog! That's what I did! We "middle of the road-ers" (literally!) need to be acknowledged for what we can bring to the table! I was proud of myself for not walking, but when my friend finished TEN minutes ahead of me, I thought she should most certainly be in a separate category than myself! Maybe next time I'll do a "write in" registration category. I sure would like to do a "write in " in this year's presidential election!

Memories

I recently attending a writing workshop, and the instructor had us do an activity that, on the surface, seemed pretty benign. We were to write about a room that we remembered as a child. I thought he was going for the "lots of details" angle, but as I wrote, I realized what it was really about. The room I described was the living room in my childhood home. I am sure I did a masterful job of painting the picture of what the room looked like, but what took me by surprise was that my mind went from the aesthetics of the room to the people who often occupied it. Then, that led to memories I had about those people. It was a really sweet time in my life, and I had a special specific memory attached to that room. Who knew? My daddy plays the guitar, and he would often sit in that room and play what my sister and I called, "The Train Song." He would begin to play and yell out, "All Aboard!!!" My sister and I would then start to run in a circle chasing each other and giggling as my father's playing sped up time and time again. Finally, the train ride would "slow down" and be over, and my sister and I would fall into a heap on the floor laughing and gasping for air. When I wrote about that experience at the workshop, and as I write about it now, I get a bit teary. I had not thought about that in so many years, but the time my father spent doing that with us obviously hit a mark. He may have just taken fifteen or so minutes to do that every once in a while, but it meant a lot. I think those moments and others in the pile of memories where my parents took time with us certainly have helped define the women my sister and I have become as adults and as parents. I hope one day, my kids write about a memory or two that I played a small role in that made a difference in their lives.