Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Today was one of those hurry-up-and-get-things-done days so I’d have time to squeeze in a mountain run prior to my writing critique meeting this evening. Checking things off my list right and left with lightening speed this morning, I then headed out to the places I needed this afternoon.

Just as I got back to my office, my oldest daughter, who’s in town visiting, texted me, wanting to know if I’d eaten lunch yet. I hadn’t, looked at my watch and did a quick calculation.

There might be time.

I contacted her and we arranged that if I went to lunch with her instead of going for my mountain run then, she’d cover for me in the afternoon so I could break away for the hour I’d need to get in my run.

We had a wonderful lunch, just the two of us, and enjoyed catching up with one another. After, we picked up her younger brother and went home. Changing into my running gear, I then grabbed my six-inch blade I carry for protection and headed out.

The head of the mountain trail is a mere half mile from our front door, so in quick order, I found myself surrounded by nature, traversing mountain streams overflowing with water, dodging fallen trees, squishing my way through mud and having the time of my life.

Usually, I don my headphones and run in time to the tunes on my IPod shuffle. But today, I let Mother Nature play her symphony for me to keep pace with. There was the sound of water cascading down great heights. Streams, full of water, flowing over rocks. The sound of my own footsteps as I carefully placed each step, avoiding obstacles. Bullfrogs croaking out their melodies. Birds chirping. A random rattlesnake, apparently not aware it should be hibernating, shaking its rattle as I ran by.

Running my mountain trail, I felt like I was in the most perfect place. And had it not been approaching dark, I would have stopped at the peak of the mountain to sit and appreciate the breathtaking 360-degree panoramic view. But I knew better than to tempt fate by being stuck, alone, on the mountain as the night animals began to come out. Have found myself in that unfortunate situation a number of times, each one not the least bit pleasant…or safe. So, reaching the summit, I craned my head from side-to-side like an over enthused owl, taking in as much of the view as I could while still running and being mindful of where I was placing my footfalls.

About a half mile further along, there’s a saddleback section of the trail. Our city lies on one side, the neighboring town on the other. This expanse stretches about a half mile in length. While running it this afternoon, with the sun rapidly setting off to my right, the sky the most perfect blue, visions of Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music came to mind, as she danced her way across that lush green hillside in the movie.

My feet felt like they had wings, me invigorated from the gorgeous nature surrounding me, and I flew down the mountain, keeping a top running pace. By the time my feet reconnected with the paved road that leads back to our house, I felt like I’d spent an entire day at some amazing spa. (Have never been to one, but from how they depict them in the movies, I can imagine how refreshing they must be.)

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

There are times when, though I can’t explain why, I’m led to do something. Trying to ignore that prompting turns the small quite voice within me into a shouting demon that refuses to be ignored. Today was one of those occasions.

Though I had a hectic schedule, made even more involved when I received phone calls from my grandfather who informed me that he might well be arriving to stay with us as of tomorrow, I had the driving urge to go and get a pedicure.

A pedicure? Really? I don’t have time for that.

Looking down at my toes, I also realized that the one I had was just fine, in fact, without a flaw.

Hmmm….

So, I ignored the prompting and continued on with my tasks. But the voice within me grew in volume. Again, I tried to push it aside, reasoning that getting a pedicure was not on my agenda today. Though it defied reason and practicality, my urge to go to a specific salon to get a pedicure—today—screamed at a deafening volume, effectively blocking out all other thoughts, until I could think of nothing else.

Fine, I’ll go and get a pedicure!

Dropping my son at home after picking him up from school, I headed to the nail place. On the way, I viewed the clock and realized that if all went expediently at the salon, I would be done in time to get to my class an hour later. Then…my cell phone rang. Picking it up, my son, who I’d just dropped off, informed me that he had no way to get into the house.

Ugh! Are you kidding me?

Glancing at the clock again, I made a quick calculation, and came to the conclusion that having to go and let my son in would make me run late. But I sucked it up, made a U-turn when possible and headed back to the house.

Arriving at the salon a short time later, I noticed that all but one chair was occupied. Counting the number of employees working, I realized that I’d have to wait. Tempted to turn and leave so I wouldn’t be late to my class, the voice within me demanded that I stay put and wait.

This makes no sense. If I leave, I can come back another day and still make it to my class today.

But the voice inside me would have none of it, again, insisting that I remain where I was and wait…no matter how long it took.

Long ago, I learned to listen to this voice as it always has a purpose, leading me into situations I’m meant to be a part of. So, I submitted my will, stopped looking at my watch and settled in for the duration.

A woman, who had given me pedicures before, called me over, a sweet smile on her face, though she looked tired. I like this woman—an immigrant from Vietnam of five years. In the past, I’d noticed that she was shy and reluctant to converse with the customers who she worked on, as her English would sometimes falter and those customers would become frustrated.

The first time she gave me a pedicure, I took my time talking with her. Getting to know her. Instilling confidence that she could take as much time as needed to convey her thoughts without my passing judgment on English being her second language. Since then, we’ve enjoyed many conversations and have learned much about one another.

Today’s topics of discussion had to do with family—hers and mine. Longevity. What factors into it. Quality of life. How to optimize one’s chances for it.

We talked about growing up. How many siblings we each have. What cultural differences there are between Vietnam and the United States. What advantages there are to living here, especially for one’s health. How proper nutrition and vitamins are fairly regular parts of our daily U.S. lives, but how in Vietnam, that isn’t the case. Having been very poor, according to her, she told how it was tough on her mother’s body, having endured eleven full-term pregnancies while eating an insufficient diet to even sustain her. As a result, her body lacked the vitamins and calcium needed. The result? Over time, bone deterioration.

Her mother, now seventy, is living here in the U.S. with her. We discussed the elderly in our families. The length of time each has lived. What quality of life they’ve experienced in their latter years. The woman shared how her mother, though in good physical condition, couldn’t walk very far without being in great pain. It was then that it became clear to me why I had been driven to come to this salon—today—to get a pedicure.

It wasn’t the service that I needed. Instead, I wasn’t to miss the rare opportunity to try to help this woman’s mother, a stranger, whose condition touched my heart. The woman and I continued to talk on and on, me no longer intent to go to my class. I listened, asked questions, listened more and then offered a few suggestions, realizing that I’d been given a great gift to help. That my extensive research for the articles I write on health, fitness, natural remedies and running could help increase the mother’s quality of life. And so, I shared what I knew.

As the two of us conversed, the woman’s look transformed from that of being tired to one of hope. I gave her one of my business cards, writing down the names of several natural remedies that would help her mother. The woman thanked me profusely, and I smiled in return.

By the time I left, I was amazed to discover that nearly two hours had passed. It had seemed like only minutes. Happy ones, where the best reward was watching the stressed look on the woman’s face fade away, replaced with that of an inner calm, one born of hope and gratitude.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

On the corner of my desk, I have a large hourglass. Sitting atop that, is a hand-carved statue of a man, legs crossed, whose face is resting in his hands. Each time I view the statue, I read something different into the man’s posturing. Sometimes, I see him as bent in shame, hiding his face from the world. Other times, I see him as being deep in thought. Still other times, I wonder if what I’m seeing is a man who has turned so far inward as to not be aware of his posturing, instead, focusing on his inner nuances.

For the longest time, I had the statue resting on a shelf behind my desk. One adorned with a collection of writer’s tools—dictionaries, thesauruses and various books on writing. I frequently referenced these books, so got to glance at my statue when retrieving one from the shelf. But then one day, while flipping over my hourglass to mark the passage of time, I got the idea to rest the sitting man atop the hourglass. I figured the two went together.

There have been times when I’ve viewed my carved man and wondered if what I read into his posture was a direct reflection of what I was feeling at the time. Or if it might’ve had something to do with things I’d recently experienced. That was why I joined the statue and hourglass together—to remind me that how we perceive things is oft a manifestation of who we are at any given time.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Happy New Year!!!

Last night while sitting round the dinner table, Kai’s daddy asked each of us what our New Year’s resolutions were. My husband and I stated how we don’t believe in them. I elaborated with how I feel that most New Year’s resolutions, like diets and other fads, quickly get discarded. Pausing for my words to sink in, I then expressed that I prefer to view the New Year as any other mark of time, by pondering where I’m at, what delivered me here and where I’m striving to go. By doing such, I believe a clear path with be revealed, indicating how I can reach my goals.

Each family member listened to my thoughts and then expounded with additional ones of their own. As I listened to each person, I smiled, aware that the objectives given hadn’t been hasty ones or short-lived. No, what I heard my family members state were beliefs near and dear to their hearts that they would fight to obtain.

In our family, we don’t settle for mediocrity or easy outs. Instead, when we state aloud something we intend to do, we give it our all, not allowing for the possibility that we might fall short. For to admit defeat even before we’ve begun would undermine our mission, which might cause us to stray from our intended path.

Several family members, not content to wait for New Year’s Day to roll around, had already begun their journeys to achieve their goals, some of which will prove to be tough. Others will take a year or more to realize. But the steadfastness I saw in each family member’s eyes, as they voiced their aspirations, lead me to believe that each aim will be seen through to fruition.