I Ran

In shorts after a long winter, I ran.

Under a refreshing sprinkle of rain, I ran.

By a friendly familiar face, I ran.

Up a hill, farther than before, I ran.

With new music in my ears, I ran.

Between items on my “to do” list, I ran.

I’m stronger, because I ran.

It’s the People not the Places

A few weeks ago I traveled from Wisconsin to Washington D.C. to meet my aunt from Florida destined for the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM). Together we were on a mission to fill in details of our family’s history. About a year ago I mentioned a desire to one day go to the USHMM, she suggested we go together, and from that point forward she pushed me to find a week that would work best for me to be away from my family, which I do very rarely.

So, on our last night there as we were walking it took me by surprise when she said something to the effect of, “Thanks for making this trip.” I, in turn, took no credit and thanked her for making me find a date on the calendar and then buy a plane ticket. Her response took me by such surprise I’ve been processing it every since. “That’s not what I mean. You talk to people. I don’t talk to people.”

It was then that I realized she was talking about the homeless (I assume) man who was quietly panhandling outside of a Smithsonian museum who I offered an afternoon snack of a small bag of fig newtons to; it was the Indian woman (I asked if she preferred Native American or Indian) we shared the newly open doll exhibit with at the Museum of American Indian Art with; the security guards/police in front of the Capitol I asked what the sculpture on top of the building was, knowing that it wasn’t really Mary Poppins as I had joked; the restaurant employees at the “politically posh” hotel on Capitol Hill we stayed at to find out what they did with the glutton’s amount of leftovers from the breakfast buffet that there were bound to be, they are brought down to the employee cafeteria. That’s what she was talking about, among others.

So, if you ask me about my trip to D.C. don’t expect me to tell you about the monuments and memorials I saw and visited, because I’m going to tell you about all the interesting people I met and shared moments with while I was there. Want to know the best part of my 5-mile run around The Mall? The woman I met at the Lincoln Memorial; well, that and the warm weather and sharing my run surrounded by so many other runners just two days after the Boston Marathon.

I talk to people wherever I go. Strangers we pass are people we are sharing moments in our lives with whether we like it or not.

When I stop and think about why I take the time to share a conversation with people who others may not I can only come up with two explanations. 1) I am my father’s daughter and 2) It’s just who I am. Over the weeks I have spent time thinking about this and all I keep coming back to is that some of the most memorable moments for me are short conversations I’ve shared with strangers who happen to be in the same place at the same time as me. I have learned great things from people whose names I do not know.

Looking back at high school and college I can confidently say I had a hundred or more acquaintances, but only had a small group of close friends. Strange considering that I can remember being the shy kid hiding behind her mother’s leg on the first day of preschool. I never went to camp until I was 12 because I was too shy and worried about making friends, and even then it was only day camp.

Just a few hours after having the conversation that started this all we learned the history of the Old Post Office from the security guard working at the x-ray machine, who happened to be a retired military man, after I gave him a sample from Ben & Jerry’s. Following that encounter we talked so comfortably with a family from the Boston area while waiting for our tour bus that the tour guide didn’t split us between two busses because he thought we were all traveling together.

It’s a small world and I most enjoy discovering this by making the connections through talking to people. Besides, after all the scary things that have happened in our country since September 11^th wouldn’t you like to know about the person sitting next to you on the plane or standing in line waiting for the big event to happen? 

The Power of Personal Accounts of History

I think it was when I began working in the domestic violence field that I learned and experienced the impact of hearing a survivor share his/her story firsthand.

I’ve had the honor on a few occasions to hear Holocaust survivors speak. I wish I had kept track of whom I’ve heard but unfortunately, if they did not have a book to sell, I didn’t write their name down anywhere permanent and for this I regret. Pieces of their stories remain with me and I wish I had their name alongside.

I’ve heard Gerda Weismann Klein, Peter Feigl and others speak and today I had the honor to hear Sam Harris speak. After hearing a Holocaust survivor speak I always rush to the line of where they are signing books, shaking hands and meeting the audience. Some people’s first instinct is to show their camera and ask for a photo. Others thank them for sharing their story. I always say the same words; often in between tears that I have yet to learn how to stop from coming. “Thank you for speaking for those who are unable to speak for themselves.” I then go on to tell them that they are speaking for my family; my grandmother’s brother and sister and her children.

Each time my body shakes, I take slow, deep breaths and I feel the power of meeting someone that makes me feel closer to the relatives I never met because of Hitler. I feel even closer to them than I did when my grandmother was alive. I never heard my grandmother speak of her siblings who were left behind in Poland when she emigrated in 1928 at the age of 11. I think her pain was too much to speak about her only sister, with whom I do know she was close with.

If the survivor is from Poland I feel an extra connection, as if have met my Polish relatives. There is no way to know if Sam Harris’ parents knew my great aunt and great uncle or their children I don’t have names for. But as Sam Harris, age 77, hugged me I was overcome with the emotion of hugging a long lost relative. It’s as if the spirits of 6 million Jews are surrounding the survivors who speak on their behalf.

And in the end I always feel hope. Hope that miracles do take place in the middle of unthinkable atrocities. After all, none of the survivors I’ve heard speak have attributed their survival to anything but a miracle or two.

Running and What it Means to Me

Two weeks ago I participated in the Sandy Hook Run for the Families virtually. I sent in my donation, agreed to run 3.1 miles and should receive a t-shirt soon. Previous posts go into further detail so I will spare you here, and will provide more details on how amazing the run turned out in another post.

Prior to the run a local radio deejay got word on what I was doing and asked to interview me on the radio. I knew I was not interested in doing that, but had to dig inside myself to put into words why not and here is part of my reply to him:

For me this is just me going out for my weekend run and asking friends (and friends of friends I suppose) to join me. Every runner runs for a purpose. Some runs are to reach goals, some are to prove to ourselves that we can, indeed, go farther, or tackle a new challenge. This run just happens to be for the families in Sandy Hook. This wonderful country of ours gets smaller with tragedy and so on March 23, I, and others, will simply be going out for a run that is purposely for the children whose lives were lost too soon, many of them the same age as our own children.

And it’s true, every day I run for a reason.

I’ve been doing a lot of genealogy research lately, with a focus this past year being on my grandmother’s sister, husband, children and my grandmother’s brother who were living in Poland at the time of the Holocaust who undoubtedly were killed as a result of Hitler’s prejudice. Just recently I have found new answers. In a little more than a week I will be leaving for what I am continually referring to as a once in a lifetime trip to DC to meet up with my aunt. I am hoping for laughter, a bit of sightseeing, but the purpose of the trip is to spend two days (at least) at the United States Holocaust Museum. I’ve wanted to go for many years, and always envisioned it to be a solo trip as part of a family vacation. Planning the trip with my mom’s sister and hopefully finding more answers about our family’s history makes the idea of going alone no longer an option nor desire.

Tomorrow is Holocaust Remembrance Day and “Today I ran for all those who were killed during the Holocaust and dreamed of running away to freedom.”

Running, to me, isn't about being fast, it's just about being able to have the freedom and physical health to run.

Sunshine on my Shoulders Makes me Happy

I’ve often joked that in my next life I want to be a cat, so I can spend my day chasing sunbeams to nap in. I love the sun, but not in a skin cancer, leather –skin sort of way. I love the warmth of the sun, I love the glow of it. More than anything I love how on sunny days I smile more. I associate the sun with happiness and warmth. Winter in Wisconsin hasn’t been long, it’s just been dragging on. It’s only snowed regularly since January, but today it got cold again, there was a windchill of near zero when I woke up this morning, but it was sunny! When it’s this cold the clouds are frozen away leaving a bright, crisp, bright blue sky above. Tricking me into believing it’s warm outside and leaving me longing for a sunbeam to lie in.

The past few weeks, months even, I have been joking, but not really, just without a diagnosis that I am suffering from sun deprivation disorder; which technically is called seasonal affective disorder. There is no doubt in my mind that the professionals naming this illness started with the acronym and went from there. Along with this has been a desire to move. Not to Florida (ick! Never!), or back to Alabama or even another warm and sunny destination. No, just to a single-family house that has windows that natural light floods in through.

See, I live in a twindo. Not a condo, not a duplex, a twindo. I have an “other half” that is not my husband. Everything is separate, except we share a foundation wall that is separated with a one foot air space. The thing is my “other half” has the west facing wall and my east facing side has a view of the bluff, causing the sun not to come shining over until around 9:00 am. If you read a recent post about my house you’ll know that I do not love the layout of my house, but its’ location, and it does offer space and everything we need; not want, but need. But, I have to admit that the moving bug has bit because of the lack of sunlight spilling in through the windows this winter. Right now it’s 2:00 pm and I have no lights on in my house, my house is bright, but there are only two small sunbeams streaming in, so small and ineffective, that even my cat has chosen the comfort of the couch.

I made a promise to myself today. As soon as it is warm enough outside, at this point 40 degrees will do, I am going outside, tilting my head up to the sky and basking in the sun. Besides, I’m not entirely convinced that reincarnation exists, so why wait.

This House

3 bedrooms. 2 bathrooms. Eat-in kitchen. Living room. Guest room. Playroom. Laundry room. Workshop. 2-car garage. Simply put my house sounds huge and plenty of room for my family of four.

Let me put it another way.

2 bedrooms on the main level, one in the finished basement with an egress window. 2 bathrooms so small it’s a tight fit for two people, the counters in each are only two hair products/soap dispensers wide on either side. Eat in kitchen, yes, with a table that’s too large for the room so that sitting down I can reach to the silverware drawer and the refrigerator if necessary. Oh, and there’s no walking comfortably around any of the chairs. Living room is comfortable, but the furniture only allows it to be set up one way. Guest room is in the basement with no windows, so legally not a bedroom; guests sleep really well though. Playroom, also in the basement with no windows; even the bright paint on the wall doesn’t draw the kids in. Laundry room with counter and cabinets is great, no complaints there. Workshop is the size of a large rectangle walk-in closet, next to the bedroom in the basement with no ventilation. 2-car garage with “stuff” hanging from every wall and the ceiling; in some places when the cars are out I have to duck so I don’t hit a bike tire.

My number one pet peeve, especially this time of year is the lack of natural light coming in. Last year I actually moved my bed one-foot (the only space available) closer to the window.

Two nights ago while I was having a pity party for myself, centered around my house not being big enough or having the right layout, or enough light I reread some old blogs and came across this one from May 2011 at which point I put myself back into my place.

First World Problems.

• I have my own washing machine and room devoted to it.

• I have not one, but two bathrooms with clean running water and working toilets.

• My kids each have their own bedrooms and so many toys they have a playroom.

• We have a garage filled with “toys”; skis, bikes, rollerblades, sleds, scooters, helmets, sports balls of every kind, etc.

• My husband is skilled enough to turn a closet into a workshop and fill it with tools and supplies that he knows how to use to fix and build things around our house.

• I can’t rearrange my living room furniture because there are enough comfortable seats for my family and friends to sit on.

• My kitchen table is big enough to fit friends and family around. It is filled with food and supplies to feed my family with no worry on when the food will run out.

• I live in a town with fresh air and sunlight, that I want more of.

Location:

Views of the bluff, across from a park and bike path, world class, grade A neighbors.

It’s all in the way you look at things. If you don’t like what you se,e change your perspective! Oh, that and real estate is all about location, location, location!

Making Friends

At this moment in time three friends are on my mind.

One who I had the honor of working for, well maybe not the honor, but thanks to answering an ad I worked for her for six months about 11 years ago. Her friendship was by far the best thing I got out of that job, oh and the knowledge that I’m only good at selling things when I don’t have to. Life is busy as many of you can relate to. We don’t see each nearly as often as either of us would like. This week, however, was an exception. Three hours split over two days we spent cross-country skiing together. The first day there were tears from laughter, most of which came after one of us fell. The other day there were nearly tears as we opened our hearts to each other. There’s just something about sharing nature’s peace that causes deep conversations.

It’s not often in my life that I feel a connection with a potential new friend, and the second friend on my mind I have only known since September and unfortunately she will be moving out of the state at the end of this week. She, like me, is not from the area, which initially drew me to her, well that and a mutual friend. She has a wonderful fun, honest, lively personality that I appreciate and respect. She moved her only a year and a half ago and I am not the only one sad to see her go, she has left a lasting impression on many. I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to share many laughs, many over margaritas, with her. She has an awesome daughter who, even though she is 4 years older than my daughter, has bonded with her and has shown me the importance of having positive role models for my daughter. We will miss them both, but thanks to Facebook we will still see each other, and I have every intention of keeping in touch. I would like to think that I will visit them in Colorado, but the truth is that there are friends across the country who I think about often, many on a daily basis, that I like to think I will visit soon.

The third friend on my mind just celebrated a milestone birthday this week, which brings me back to a short conversation we had a few years ago that remains vivid in my mind. We were sitting at a baseball game together talking about ways to celebrate our, then far off, 40^th birthdays. She mentioned someone she knew who celebrated by taking a trip with their girlfriends. A fabulous idea I thought and still have the thought in my mind. We’ve been friends for about eight years and once again do not see each as often as I would like, but she’s never far from my thoughts. Life got in the way this week as we tried to arrange for a birthday lunch date. I just hope that if I haven’t been invited on the trip she’ll send me a postcard. After all I still have a few years yet to plan my own celebration.

Cheers to all the strong, funny women I am fortunate enough to call my friends. I’ve done a great job of surrounding myself with positive friends in the past dozen years or so and I highly recommend it to you all.