Oh, it's Friday. What a busy week! I've been up now for almost five hours and feel as though my day should be wrapping toward a happy end instead of just beginning. Martin and I are making good progress on our little book, though, and it was good to be up and showered and ready to go before the sun. I've been trying to write for three solid hours a day, but with meetings, tutoring and all my doooties, I've accomplished that just once this week, though I've written almost everyday.
The sun shone directly into my face this morning as Charley and I began our walk. The gutters are full, the grass soggy, but when the sun illuminates it all, spring is so close you can almost taste it. Pansies bloom in my front bed and bulbs push tips up above the soil. The mountains still look cold and snowy, but the robins are taking back the neighborhood. Fat squirrels, too, but not fat enough that they can't still outrun Charley. I've started jogging, too, but before you all suffer heart attacks, let me amend that statement: I've started jogging a fraction of my daily walk, just to get my heart rate a little higher, and because sometimes my body just feels like moving faster than a brisk walk. But I am so self-conscious about how I ridiculous I must look when I run (never gotten over David C's comment in 8th grade that I look like a duck when I run) that the sidewalk must be completely abandoned before I will pick my heels up off the cement.
(Have no fear, kiddies--there's no offensive language below).
Today I rounded the corner, ready to jog down a lonely shaded walking path that connects two neighborhoods, I stopped in mid-stride. There was a figure proceeding up the walk. I slowed myself to a shambling stroll, waiting for the person to safely pass me. It was some middle-school kid on a bike, a portly boy with riding gloves and a nice face who was apparently also embarrassed to be seen exercising in public. He would not make eye-contact with me even when I said hello. I waited until he pedaled past before I jogged down to the end of the path. It's not far but, as usual, by the end I was feeling it. I can walk blissfully all day and just want to walk more; my body knows and loves walking. But when I jog, I feel the pull of gravity so intensely that my feet almost drag along the ground.
"The force is strong with me," I began silently repeating to myself as I huffed and puffed and gave in again to a walk. So the gravitational force is not as sexy as the gathered spiritual force that makes the universe gel, but when I jog, it is doubtlessly the most predominant force in me.
I reached home, full of momentum, and now I am struggling to keep the momentum moving until siesta time at 2, just before the kids come straggling in, one at a time, and before my favorite time of the day, when afternoon ripens into evening. I may be getting up early but I am still passionately a night person.
Happy Friday to all of you!
The sun shone directly into my face this morning as Charley and I began our walk. The gutters are full, the grass soggy, but when the sun illuminates it all, spring is so close you can almost taste it. Pansies bloom in my front bed and bulbs push tips up above the soil. The mountains still look cold and snowy, but the robins are taking back the neighborhood. Fat squirrels, too, but not fat enough that they can't still outrun Charley. I've started jogging, too, but before you all suffer heart attacks, let me amend that statement: I've started jogging a fraction of my daily walk, just to get my heart rate a little higher, and because sometimes my body just feels like moving faster than a brisk walk. But I am so self-conscious about how I ridiculous I must look when I run (never gotten over David C's comment in 8th grade that I look like a duck when I run) that the sidewalk must be completely abandoned before I will pick my heels up off the cement.
(Have no fear, kiddies--there's no offensive language below).
Today I rounded the corner, ready to jog down a lonely shaded walking path that connects two neighborhoods, I stopped in mid-stride. There was a figure proceeding up the walk. I slowed myself to a shambling stroll, waiting for the person to safely pass me. It was some middle-school kid on a bike, a portly boy with riding gloves and a nice face who was apparently also embarrassed to be seen exercising in public. He would not make eye-contact with me even when I said hello. I waited until he pedaled past before I jogged down to the end of the path. It's not far but, as usual, by the end I was feeling it. I can walk blissfully all day and just want to walk more; my body knows and loves walking. But when I jog, I feel the pull of gravity so intensely that my feet almost drag along the ground.
"The force is strong with me," I began silently repeating to myself as I huffed and puffed and gave in again to a walk. So the gravitational force is not as sexy as the gathered spiritual force that makes the universe gel, but when I jog, it is doubtlessly the most predominant force in me.
I reached home, full of momentum, and now I am struggling to keep the momentum moving until siesta time at 2, just before the kids come straggling in, one at a time, and before my favorite time of the day, when afternoon ripens into evening. I may be getting up early but I am still passionately a night person.
Happy Friday to all of you!
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