Train On, Girls

This is just a shout out to you sisters. After I hurt my foot a couple of weeks ago, I thought I was a goner as far as the whole training for this marathon thing. But on Sunday, after a week and a half of not running (or doing much other than hobbling), I ran eight miles. The whole eight! I'm amazed at myself, but finally thinking I can maybe really do it. And I also finally don't really care if I can--if I walk some, so what? If I'm slow, who cares? So keep walking/running/biking and I'll see you in October. I think it'll be great.

Also, I want to say that I love my new shoes. Before my blueberries, as I call them for reasons that will be clear shortly, my shoes were a source of distress. My shins felt like they were splintered, half my foot went numb 10 minutes into every run, my sock twisted like it was alive, and my right foot suffered different pains every time I ran. I finally decided to go to a store where I heard they help you choose the right shoes, and I LOVED IT. The guy there checked out my feet and measured them. He then looked at my old shoes, and informed me that they were a full size too small for running--who knew I was supposed to buy running shoes bigger? He asked if they were for running or walking and then asked how far and how fast I run. He watched me walk around, and told me that I also had the wrong shoe for my gait, and came out with three shoes to try on. By now, he seemed like a shoe god, and I admit I was feeling pretty close to him (he had, after all, been examining my feet). But I was still surprised when he picked up the third pair, leaned in and said, "smell them." I thought he was crazy. He actually made me smell them several times (I wasn't inhaling deeply enough for him, I guess), and insisted they smelled like blueberries. Perhaps influenced by the huckleberries of McCall and my awe of his foot detective work, I bought the blueberries. They were clearly his favorites. I'm happy to report that all my feet problems are solved. It's magical. We live in a world where knowledgeable service is rare and hard to find, so I was just delighted with my running shoe outing. In 30 minutes, I had the perfect shoes. I wish all shopping worked like that. Shoot-I wish life worked like that.

Everybody is OK!

We live by freeways. Who doesn't these days, I know, and hardly a day goes by that I don't spend part of my time on one or more freeways. I listen to music, I listen to my kids fight, I listen Paige holler that she needs chocolate. But always in the back of this is the running dialogue in my brain which tends to focus largely on all the danger, both real and imaginary, that I feel hunkering about me waiting to strike. Usually this involves some splitting of my family, and it's hardest not to listen when we are in fact separated. Mike at work, some kids at school, Paige at a play date--any time we're divided. But I don't really feel the intense worry when I'm driving with all three kids in the car. I guess I figure if something happened, it's OK because we're all together, because I wouldn't leave any children behind. I know it's warped and irrational, but I know you understand.



That was a long preface to a short story. So this morning, the kids and I were heading to Fairy Tale Town for a fun outing, when I felt I was almost waking up. Suddenly, it seemed to me, I could see the freeway clearly. It was crowded and moving fast, and it seemed abnormally dangerous to me. My internal dialogue went straight into 'what if' mode, and I thought about what Mike would do if all three kids and I were to die in a car accident. Despite my tendency to catastrophize, this had never really occurred to me before. It took a split second to see it and wonder--would he still practice dentistry? Live in the house? In Sacramento? You get the idea. Just a split second. And in that second I pulled my foot off the gas--a natural reaction to the crowded freeway and the crazy line of thought my brain tends to take.



And as I pulled my foot back, I saw a stone the size of a bucket come flying over the other side of the freeway toward the car. In retrospect it seems like it had to come from an overpass, because it was huge and coming fast, but it was arching like it came from somewhere lower. Either way, it was moving too fast for me to react in any way, and I was stunned as it slammed into the front end of the minivan and rocketed back up into the air headed someplace to my right. I still feel worried that it might have hit some other car before it finally landed.



When I parked the car and got out to look at what I felt sure would be a seriously damaged hood, I saw that the stone had smashed directly into the license plate of the car. The frame of the plate was mostly gone and the plate itself was mashed. The was a minor gash where the stone had shot back up after hitting the plate, and the H on the front was hanging off. That's shockingly little damage from anything as big as what hit my car.



I stood there with my three perfectly unharmed kids and felt dizzy with gratitude. I don't care if you view it as divine intervention or a run-of-the-mill coincidence. The fact is that if I didn't pull my foot off the gas when I did, that massive stone would have smashed directly into my windshield. It really hasn't done anything for my tendency to over-emphasize the fleeting and fragile nature of life, but I can't help feeling the miracle of my family a little more deeply today. We are whole and well and continuing today, and for once, that's enough. I guess I have enough gratitude today to overpower the fear. Maybe I haven't had enough time to process why, but somehow I'm changed from this. I may not understand what it means, but I know a miracle when it slams me in the fender.


And I feel a need to contact my family and tell them we're OK. So you didn't know we were in danger, but we're all fine. And that should be an exclamation--we're all fine! Do you believe it? We survived! Hallelujah!



Also, I think it shows how silly it is to want expensive cars. You're bound to smash into things, you know.

My McCall

So I know my family already knows all of this, but I can't quite hold it in. I feel compelled to put into words what McCall does for me, but I know I'm just not capable.

So the short version is this: McCall for me is a coming home to the essential me. It is the dropping off of all the weight with which life has loaded me, and it leaves me feeling as complete and clean as the first dive off the dock does. The physical place is all it takes. The trees, the lake, the cabin--all of it is sort of a home for my soul. Dad says that it changes, has changed already, and while he is technically correct (no denying the ice skating rink in place of the old Shavers, to name just one), the essence of McCall is just what it has always been. I believe that there are places capable of holding history, and the area surrounding Payette Lake is such a place. Maybe because there is so much of my grandma there, or my dad, or my own childhood--but we are other places, too, that don't hold us the same way. It feels like the earth there soaks up life as we live it, waits for us to come back to reclaim it.

Then again, maybe it's just the joy of not having to shower, to dress in anything other than a swim suit and a big hat, to drink as much Kool-Aid as my stomach can hold. It's being able to read for eight hours a day. I like the feeling of being remote, unreachable (I had to really work to pretend Oliver's computer was a figment of my imagination--I don't want to believe the internet is available! No TV! No cell phones! No contact with the outside world except the old red phone with it's long, over-stretched cord, please). It's simple, really. It's cucumbers in vinegar. And that's enough.

And in large part, it's the fact that I'm with family. It's safe to let go of yourself when you're surrounded by people who hold all the parts of you safe in themselves.

That's the short version. So now I'm home, ready to deal with the 65 emails and 15 phone messages that await. Or maybe I'm more ready to ignore three fourths of those, and that's the difference. Either way, I love McCall and the family I find there. I took a lot of pictures and sent them to all my family, but here's the one that makes my heart sing. Continuity.