got a number on me

I've been keeping a secret from everyone except my mom and a few chosen others for the past month or two. And it's one of those secrets where when it's revealed, you're like, geez what's the big deal? Why would anyone be secret and weird about that? Well guess what, it is a big deal. To me. And it's my blog (blog blog blog! what an awful word) so that's what matters here. Okay get ready for the big reveal--the prestige, if you will:

I run.

That's it. A normal thing that millions of people the world over have been doing ever since the late seventies or so. But to me it is new and exciting and worth dedicating an entire bundle of paragraphs to. It's been secret because I didn't know if it would stick; I didn't think it would stick. Obviously I've had to run at times for various reasons throughout my life and I've always hate hate hated it. I dreaded the infamous mile run in P.E. class like everyone else. Then recently I started feeling the healthiest I've ever felt, or at least ever remembered feeling, and thought I should make the most of it. Right then, right at the moment when I was forming that idea, my unknowingly timely sister-in-law--she of the Obama/Biden teaching fame--introduced me to this program called Couch Potato to 5K. It is about running. I trust the intelligence of my readers enough to take that running program title and not need any further explanation. I've been doing it for some weeks (months?) now, and guess what, it totally stuck. I love running.

I love that every day I surprise myself with going farther than I did the day before. I love that when I take a shower it's to wash sweat off and not just to make my hair look cute. I love that I've become well acquainted with local raccoons and teensy baby quails and snakes both dead and alive. I love that I've fooled my neighbors into this aspect of my identity--"oh yeah, Tracy. Red hair, runs a lot." I love that my legs are in a perpetual state of light soreness. I love that I can join in that conversation, that ongoing conversation that I've overheard countless times, about the best places to run, which muscles are hurting, what song has the best driving beat. I love that running shoes are on my packing list for my upcoming vacation. I love seeing people out running on my drive home from work and feeling that itch, wanting to be out there with them, and feeling excitement about knowing that I soon will be. This is all so new and different and shocking to me, and I love it.

I don't run fast. I don't run far. But I run. And now you know.

yes he can

Well Tiffany is clearly teaching Kyle the essentials.




That chocolatey-mouthed kid got an A+ on his civics lesson today. Okay, maybe A- for the little initial mix-up.

years of pilgrimage

If I've talked to you in the last week then I've already forced this song upon you, but a lot of people have (unfortunately) not been a part of my week, and so I must take more drastic online measures to make sure everybody hears it. I've been needing a song to set the tone for my summer and I think at last I've found it. Summer's off to a slow start this year, what with all the surgery recovery and mother nature confusing Utah with Seattle, but these Frenchies Phoenix and I are finally ready to kick it into gear. Seriously, just go ahead and try to keep your feet still while listening to this little ditty. It won't happen. I honestly cannot foresee anybody not liking this number. Oldies, babies, preps, punks, cowboys, indians, your mom, your dad--they will all be into it. And there's nothing I love like bringing the people together. Make sure you give it the full 4:02.

Phoenix - Lisztomania

a four count rhythm

This is just a bit of silliness that I wrote about the process of constantly having to start new IVs in my arms over the past couple months (heeeey over-obviousing the obvious!). Please don't take it seriously.

It’s not my mother but my veins that are the fish. They lurk beneath my skin, winding and flowing and bathing and then just every so often, when the shallows feel warm and inviting, they briefly surface. And we wait, on the hunt. These moments, these intervals of luring them up to a visible depth, these are what we will wake before the sun to find, these are what cause us to grin victoriously (but silently!) when at last they happen. Those fish-veins will slither and slink but we will wait, we will get them. For we are trained in the art and practice and we know our roles and will not shrink from them. It is dusk now, a late evening in summer, and I feel them coursing through me. They’re active, they’ve become overconfident, splashing on their merry red way, and I know this window will not last. I rush to the fishery, where my compatriot waits with our gear at the ready. Then still, ever so still, this is my part of the operation, to keep the slippery things calm and quiet and unaware of their impending doom. We’ve got friendly waters today; translucent, smooth, warm. Conditions are perfect, but the things have been known to weasel away from perfect conditions before. Quiet— still— steady now— steady— and— NOW! My fellow hunter thrusts the harpoon, a clear target beneath its razor tip. But oh! The squirming thing has rolled away and swims out of sight, down to the depths where it cannot be reached. There is still hope—there has not yet been time for the fish on the other side to be alerted to the commotion. They still glide lazily about just under the surface, basking in the warmth. Again, quickly now! And this time her aim is sure. The fish-vein is hooked and tethered and struggle though it might, it will not break free. Quickly his companions sink out of sight, sorry for the loss of their brother but unwilling to linger and suffer the same fate. For now, they are safe from our hunt. We only want one. We only need the right one. But don’t you get too comfortable, oh little veins. We’ll be back for more.