A Paper Moon and a Slight Whistle

Tonight I felt like Mom at 30.  It's rare that this happens as I do not have a husband, four children, a home, a trampoline (the key, clearly!), two cars, several church callings, and dreams of being a therapist.  As I drove home the radio played Nat King Cole's Paper Moon, thank you NPR for your nightly classics. And although this particular song was not on the soundtrack to Sleepless in Seattle it sounded very much like all of those songs and I was suddenly thrown back to our trip to Vegas, when I was 10 and Mom was 31 (my age in roughly 35 sleeps). Margie, Caroline, Amy, Bri, and I somehow fooled the boys into seeing the film, poor guys (11, 8, and 6 years old) were bored stiff but their time was bought with popcorn and Milk Duds. The estrogen charged population (Caroline and I were 10, Bri and Amy were 8 but we were just as hooked on the timeless love story as our moms) walked out of the theater went straight to the store, whichever store sold cassette tapes at the time, and bought the soundtrack to Sleepless in Seattle.  We listened to it all the way back to Chicago, it's amazing my brothers didn't come at us with knives (wait ... ).  Love was tangible at that point in my life.  Papa loved Mom and I could see that, I was part of that.  Annie was not crazy but had fallen in love with Sam via three minute radio spot and in the end would be the new mom to Jonah, Nat would sing about it as would Celine and Harry.  Love is what happened between Uncle and his wife, Gramps and Grams, my parents, and Tom and Meg on the big screen.  And one day it would happen to me. That song, Paper Moon, threw me back into that place of hope.

It was in this 'throw back' haze that I was reminded of the Lunar Eclipse that was occurring.  For an instant I was a bit heart broken that I had broken things off with humans as of late and was one guy short of a couple to experience this not-quite-once-in-a-lifetime-but-rare-enough-to-make-a-moment-out-of-it moment with. Not having a 'him' after this long with a 'him' is hard and not to fall back into that on a night when there was a 'moment' to be had was not easy ... But I rallied quickly as the earth was rotating and my window for sky-nerding-out (the only acceptable kind in my mind) was closing.  I texted A, still awake upstairs, and we met at the door.  We walked outside to see nothing but a regular moon and decided that the city lights were going to cause a problem.  So we hopped in Bleu and drove up the canyon. It was incredible.  I love the simple complexities of the sky, the grandness of it while being such a small little something on this planet.  I love looking up and seeing beyond the trees, mountains, and haze ... to a sky that is endless and beyond my own lifetime.  I've got a brother that is a genius about all of the things in the Heavens and I appreciate that. But, to be completely frank, I love just looking up and seeing the Man on the Moon in red and the stars, maybe some are planets, in all of their glory.  They are near enough to be bright in my life and far enough to provide wonder and complete amazement.  It was worth the drive in the middle of the night to feel that awe and inspiration.

My parents seek adventure in their own way, rarely was it grand or costly.   But we'd hop in the car in the middle of the night to surprise Uncle in Indiana or pack up Christmas Eve to surprise Grams at the house on the Lake, only after taking care to leave a note for Santa as Buba was CERTAIN the Big Guy would not find us at Grams with such late notice.  I remember (and with this memory that is a FEAT!) several occasions where we would be 'going swimming' only to find our bags packed for a weekend away.  There were many a Saturdays that started with chores but ended on roller-coasters at Great America.  And I will never forget that sunrise with Papa, not on the calendar but forever in my mind as my favorite morning of all time.

Papa drove a little green Geo, two doors.  It smelled of tools and pastries, that may sound odd to some of you but if I close my eyes tight enough I can smell it still.  Before the days of booster seats and laws forbidding children to sit in the front seat before 110 lbs (I have no idea what the actual law is but every time I'm in California Cowboy reminds me he is big enough or at the very least his mom has ignored the law enough that I won't be the first adult to risk his life in the front seat) I sat in the front with Papa in that little car.  The Church building was 37 minutes away, I know this because leaving for 9am church was never an easy task for Mom when Papa was called to worship with the Navy men at a different building and frequently the screams from the top of the stairs was simply, "We have 37 min to get to church!" and we'd make it in time for opening prayer.  I've digressed.  The building was 37 minutes away and we would often go to watch the young men play basketball.  I don't know if that's still something that we would do but Papa would make that drive, sometimes to ref the game and sometimes just to give the ref a hard time (the only 'bad' story we ever have to tell about Papa but I'll get to that another time).  But I remember Saturday mornings, either driving to the ball game or going to pick up donuts or picking up donuts on the way to the ballgame, Papa would have WGN radio on.  Sometimes we heard 'The Rest of the Story" with Paul Harvey and sometimes it was the Cubs game.  I couldn't tell you more than that regarding what was said by those radio personalities.

But I can tell you the sound of that radio tuned in to the AM frequency.  There was always a slight whistle behind the voices, always male voices.  And behind that whistle it sounded as if there was an empty arena where the voices would bounce off of every corner before it reached that green Geo we were driving in.  It wasn't an annoyance, it was something of substance.  It was something steady.  And so no matter where we were driving to it was of no importance ... because that car ride, sitting shot-gun with Papa, that was the steady part of it all.  He would chime in with his own wisdom often but I can't tell you what gem he offered. I can tell you that smell is still inside of me and my heart slows to a steady beat when I tune into an AM frequency now.

What I'm getting at ... My life is not that of my parents 20 years ago.  But because of the life they gave me, full of frugal adventure and AM radio stations, I love my life.  I have my moments, we all do, but the Lunar Eclipse from the canyon with the water rushing and the wind blowing completes my Monday.  And NPR or ESPN 700 can bring my blood pressure back down to a scary-low-level (thanks for that Gramps! that and the lack of a bum!) after I get word of an injustice done in the world.  It's Nat's voice ringing in my ear that makes me smile.  It's that slight whistle behind the sound of those deep bass voices that reminds me that this is my story but filled with the nuances of Jeff and Marcia, Bill and Phyllis, Max and Charma, Bill and Monica, Matt and Laurel, Mike and Robin ect.

So as I sit here at 240 in the morning, with Paper Moon playing, I smile.  Because life is good.  It's winks, whistles, and Paper Moon good.

Get that Girl a Coke

I sat across from CA at a Mexican place that, after I thought about it on my drive home, I've been to before. We were enjoying our water (it was not a Coke establishment and he realized after we had chosen this destination that he should probably have told me but he didn't and that's fine), chips and salsa (it was almost as good as Cucos), discussing life.  We're both excellent at life, truly.  We're not so excellent at communicating about it but we have managed for 7 years and still like each other well enough to keep communicating about it. At one point in our conversation, as I was thoroughly enjoying my soup, I eluded to a conversation we've had at least twice a year for the last five, "Being with someone is a choice." This time he did not nod his head in agreement and move us to the next topic.  This time he took an opposing view. "Really, is it a choice? I mean, you can just marry anyone and be okay? We're dealt cards ..." (He didn't say dealt cards but he said something like it and so there you have it ... he's not all circumstances and such though, this is the same CA who also says, at least yearly and more specifically over the very same salsa this day, how amazed he is when two people like each other enough to love each other enough to CHOOSE each other for the rest of time ... He has it figured out about as well as I do).  I ached a little bit for a Coke in that moment of confusion as I reached for my water.

A few days before another CA made a surprise visit to worship ... not a surprise that he was at worship but that he was there at that particular moment half-way through the second hour (I'm sorry, I know you are likely confused and will likely continue to be a bit lost but when I'm telling my nieces about life all of this will be enough to jog my memory and not enough that they won't have to ask me for details ... that's how I roll here folks).  I was happy to see him, truly.  But I had already decided that I wasn't going to be there for the third hour and so I made quick conversation with him.  He made a face, it's something we both do.  Then, somehow in less than the 29 seconds that I sat there with him before leaving, he brought up jobs and hating them and dream lives and a euphoric way of life and as I sat there I ached for a Coke a little bit because as it would turn out, I may not be built for that kind of euphoric life he is convinced is out there somewhere.

That same evening I was talking to Mom, and with everything on her plate right now, the woman decided it was time to tell me to 'stop sabotaging yourself' ... I hung up and called Buba (not because she was completely off base or out of line but simply because I was going to ignore her motherly/therapist words for a bit longer).  He didn't answer right away, so I made a few rescue (read avoidance) phone calls, and then Buba called back with the wife, who I now actually love a lot. I didn't end up hiring a hit man to take out Mom (parents are kind of important and, as it would turn out, I'd like both of mine to be around for a good long while still, please and thank you) as Buba talked me down from there with talk about the baby (it's public knowledge now, I think ... they are having a baby in August, piles of books already purchased for that little one). I had three Cokes that night though and still count two living parents.

Thursday, my third of four 4am mornings last week, I was in an accident before even making it to the MacArthur exit.  I'm fine. But I was not thrilled with the beginning of my day.  Then work blew up in several different time zones and made for some hectic hours.  Then CA met me at the park for an hour.  Initially when the plan was presented I thought it was brilliant ~ the weather was grand, the phone would be turned off, kids would be laughing on the swings ... but I was in a mood and he was in a mood, using his words to articulate his feelings, and really ...  all I wanted was a Coke and Ryan, the physical therapist back here in Salt Lake, to make me not hate the fact I was in a ridiculous, text induced (not me, my phone was sitting on the seat next to me being used as the device to play Murdoch as I tried to keep calm in traffic), car accident on the 405 ten hours earlier.  But we were in the sun ... the sun was good and the ducks that were being fed by the cute little humans were straight out of Hans' story it seemed. A Coke would have made it better though.

That evening was excellent! (I'm not all 'boo and hiss' today) And as I sat out on the patio of Connie and Ted's, I had a Coke (several) and enjoyed my company.

When news comes to me, the news that I can't quite wrap my head or heart around, I like to disappear to process.  So yesterday I went to Logan. I love that place.  I didn't need a Coke all the day long, nope.  There was a reality left back in Salt Lake and I lived soberly for the entire day. Logan is magical that way.  (Please understand, my 'family' there would have supported me getting a drink, they would have joined me in it ... but I was wrapped up in the littles playing basketball, the toe-head needing her hair redone, the pretty dresses and lace, the favorite conversation, and the mustaches ... I didn't think outside of that moment I was in as I lived it ... but now that I do, a Coke may have been good for me and Baby Kace as he woke from his nap, bring that blood sugar right up!!!)

I made it back to reality and before the 3rd hour of worship was halfway over, I ached for a Coke.  It came, Good Man is called such for a few reasons but after his pop-in with a cold 1 liter of the Real Thing (see what I did there?) no further explanation will ever be necessary. And then, in a perfect moment when stars and planets aligned, Good Man pointed out a funny commercial that was on as my Bulls lost their lead to the Heat (well, they had lost it by a lot at this point and that wasn't the perfect part of this story unless you are Boy or Carter or anyone loving Eric, D Wade, or that evil Lebron).  I took a drink as the commercial played.  Funny old ladies, sure.  But then, oh but then folks ... John's voice came on to preach esurance after the funny ladies. I had my Coke in hand and Krasinski's voice in my ears.  This happy moment brought to you in part by Good Man, in part by the good people at ABC who believe in advertising, in part by esurance, in part by John Pemberton, in part by the famous half of #krasinskiandkas, and I firmly believe in part by an Aunt on the other side who loved a classy man's soothing voice and her Coke as much as I do (thanks Aunt Em).  It was a necessary moment.

Because reality came back and hit me in the chest a bit later. And I'm handling it.  In spite of me saying so many time, 'It's a choice to be happy. It's a choice to be in love. It's a choice to happily work,' ... it's a choice but sometimes it's circumstance that puts us in a place where the choice is a bit harder to make or perhaps even not possible for 17 seconds or so (CA may be right in this moment but I'm not convinced I'll be saying that come dawn and a cold Coke).  So when the phone rang and Papa spoke about Fringe and House (who says he's lost memory?!? That man can tell me at any hour of the day the exact ending, middle, and beginning of any book he's ever read and any show he's ever watched! I should probably be his doctor as I'm pretty sure he's as healthy as a horse) I was fine for a minute.  But then, as single Utahians do, Potter went into a "what would you tell me as a dating coach" thing. And so that happened in the reverse and ... well, reality and such. Boy didn't make out quite as bad as I did I feel like.  But then the goodness of Dads was discussed and the necessity of if all and vulnerability was echoing in my ears and I had listened to this eternal perspective in 3rd hour and shed some tears because my eyes are attempting to acknowledge the emotions I attempt not to and so in the midst of being told how to be a better girl to date and family talk and temple talk and everything ... well, I wished I hadn't downed that Coke as quickly as I had this afternoon.

I'm Kasi/Kate/Magnum/Marsha/French/Kathryn J/Sunshine ... and I believe that the simple things (read a cold Coke) can make the world (read my life) a better place (read take the edge off a not so easy time to choose to be happy). Tomorrow is Monday. It's going to be 59 degrees and clear skies in Salt Lake.  That's not a bad way to start the week! I'll add a Coke to the day and it will all be just PEACHY!!

Feeling Lucky ... or Blessed ... or Seeing Clearly for a Minute

Just over five hours into a new day and I am wide awake still, fantastic. {if read without sarcasm, please reread with such an attitude as it was written with such}

Now please dispense of said attitude and remember I'm not up early this morning but rather up late through the night, so have patience with the random and jumbled thoughts please.

There was a thick fog here last night. It wasn't a majestic fog that sits over a pond in the morning before the sun can burn through or even the type of fog that sits on my Lake late in the evening, almost as if to keep the memories of the day locked right there for just a moment longer.   It was the type of fog that makes you pull your car to the side of the road and wonder if you are going to be able to make it home safely.  So I sat there, at the top of the mountain {kinda}, for a moment.

It had been a while since I'd stopped. Life gets busy, plans get made and the calendar is booked up a month in advance.  The TODO lists that give me such great satisfaction become the driving force of my days. Somehow the people that mean so much to me get pushed off for weeks, even a month, at a time because there just doesn't seem to be time to squeeze in a hello.  I'm not sure when life became so busy or started moving so dang quickly. But when I stopped last night up on that mountain my mind began to do the whole unwinding thing.

At first it was the TODO list for tomorrow {or today} that won ~ the fresh office supplies that my team and I will use for the first time as we create our OCD world in the conference room in just a few hours, the laundry that could be done before I get back on a plane Saturday morning, the thank you cards that need to be written, the location of the birthday dinner.  Then it was a review of the day ~ the PPI and welcome from Cache, the awkward while funny wink over lunch, East Coast learning about the restructure with WCF on the line, the frustration at the office supply store, the discussion of slavery over dinner, the use of the word invincible, and the fresh forced moment with Potter.

It was then the phone rang, CA.  There was a part of me that didn't want to answer it, I had stopped and wanted to exist in my own little place for a minute longer, to let my mind wander for a bit and see where it would go.  I answered in spite of that part of me and was glad to hear his voice.  What I didn't realize is that this stopped moment had caused me to get emotional, contrary to what I may say sometimes or what I may show often I am a personal with feelings, I feel.  So as I replied to his "How are you?" my voice broke, we were both surprised, perhaps me even more than CA ... I said I feel, not that I understand all of the feelings or why they exist.  The questions came fast as he tried to figure out why I was crying.  Because I was so caught off guard by myself I became defensive.  Luckily for me, he's used to my ridiculous walls and automatic behavior.  More questions came and within three minutes I knew why the tears existed. And it's nothing to go into now.

"French, what was it that your Uncle said to you?"

I have a few uncles and they direct a lot of words at me but I knew exactly what he was talking about.  It was that first and final letter from Uncle Mike. "You've been running around the country for the last three months for work and for family. Tonight was bound to happen." He didn't say anything for a bit as I shed some tears of exhaustion, grateful for the release and his understanding. "Lucky for you, you'll be here in the sunshine this weekend. Don't bring the fog though." He laughed at his own joke as I internalized his words, as a female does, with more weight and implication than he intended.  He stayed on the line, although we both knew I was done talking for the night.

I allowed my mind to finish wondering, sitting up on the side of some road off of Wasatch, phone connected to silence and 55 degrees.

Thursday last I was sitting next to and across from CA, two together and with me we made three.  It was a night, yep.  CA to my left, always the one asking questions, attempting to avoid an odd moment, posed this question, "When was the last time you really felt lucky? Like really really lucky?" {asked honestly, not a la Dirty Harry} CA across from me immediately sited a winning night of Black Jack, naturally.  I had no answer.  The conversation moved on quickly without a response from CA to my left and myself, that particular grouping of humans doesn't do comfortable silence.

Is lucky and blessed the same thing?  I don't know.  But maybe it's just a matter of semantics.

I sent out three group texts about different things from Park City this weekend and only one of my humans, of 16, replied to all. My people are smart!
My straightener, a $173 investment made by me while Girlfriend and Cowboy were my main concern, fell to the hard hotel bathroom floor while I was in Phoenix but that little red light turned on and the magic wand heated up to 400 degrees to manage my hair.
While in CA I was able to see all of my CAs within a 48 hour period.
Even with a new position at work the month of May is still dedicated to a land far far away.
The man that will have his name on that second page, the one on the left, of my book has more patience with me and my thoughts than I thought possible in a professional setting.
My peanut butter jar seems to be created by the same people that created Mary Poppins carpet bag.
Friday night I was surrounded by some of the most kind and genuine people, not of my particular faith and in fact with logical reason they had every right to not be such, but rather they reminded me of just how innately good the human race can be.
Kevin Bacon returned in The Following this week.
My studies of baseball have led me to believe I saved the easiest sport to understand for last.
Boy did it too so the judgement wasn't as harsh as it could have been.
With three weeks of laundry laying in my hamper, on my floor, and in my yet unpacked suitcase, I still can steer clear of the washer as I'm heading back to warmth and therefore am in a separate summer wardrobe.
Papa's Friday texts are coming from mainland America.
The accountant man next to me on my flight to Santa Anna last week smelled like every guy I kissed my sophomore year of college, thank you Aqua Di Gio, and was calm in the face of a 50 minute flight next to an anxious flyer.
CA is able to reference words of Uncle.
Those leaving my office are still sincerely smiling.
Falling asleep to episodes of Sam/Josh/Toby often lend to dreams on that side of the country, in that wing of the House, with those three.
I can usually get that knuckle at the base of my thumb to crack.
Cowboy's birthday just happens to be the day before work needs me in the neighboring zip code.
Pete and Wendy are 'on' for the next two weeks at the House on the Hill before a rotation is put into place that I'll have to figure out.
Doc was willing to give me that information.
My Spanish is good enough for the people I'm talking to.
Ernie Halter now exists in my life.
Krasinski's voice comes on to provide esurance to the football watching population.

CA spoke up after some minutes and offered solutions to problems, as he does. And then I put Bleu into drive and came back down the mountain, very slowly.

I'm lucky.  Or blessed.  I have emotions and confusions just like every human on the planet.  And just like so many in that same group, I forget to recognize the great joy it is to be me.  Yep, moments in the fog happen. Sometimes, like last night though, the literal fog comes to force a realization.  Its not anything new or profound, nothing brilliant that should be quoted at the bottom of every email you send from your inbox. Rather it is the realization that helps me see through the fog, the realization that my life is mine to live. It is full of daily choices and checklists, created by me.  But I've only the chance to joyfully live this moment, this early morning moment, once. Uncle was right. CA posed a good question.  Bing sang truth written by Mr. Berlin.  It's my choice.

"We cannot recycle or save the time allotted to us each day. 

With time, we have only one opportunity for choice, and then it is gone forever.” 

Apostle Crush

Time to be Thankful

A few weeks ago I sat next to CA in a booth {yep, same side}, Coke in my hand and a water in his. He had, as he usually does, helped me to see things in a different light and gave me some things to contemplate before I ventured away from the safety of our hidden booth.  My mind continues to contemplate a few things he said, as a few of the other CAs contradicted his thoughts and I find myself a bit confused.  But one thing, the lesser of everything perhaps in that particular moment, I have decided to follow through with this week and holiday season.

As we sat down he pulled out his phone. It allows him to send me text messages and to answer when I call with a crisis or a soccer achievement.  More than that it doesn't do.

And as he held my iPhone 5 in his right hand and his Nokia 1.0 in his left (uncertain as to the specific model but it is the phone pictured above) he said, "Kas, this {lifting his right hand} just isn't necessary." I looked at him, batted my eyes {which has no effect on him at this point I'm afraid}, and attempted my rebuttal. He interrupted, "I'm just as productive and far more present." He then set both of our phones aside.  We had 'real' conversation.  

I've spent the past month clocking time on the phone ... it's ridiculous.  Mind you, there are nights I attempt to be 'present' with friends while D Rose is playing {or was playing, too soon to discuss folks} so the usage is high.  I've tried to leave the phone home while on dates, although requesting an 'out' phone call is difficult without a phone. I'm reading the Good Word in a book that can be held in my hands with pages I can turn.  But the phone is used, a lot.  And it's a distraction most of the time, an unnecessary distraction {is that redundant?}.  

As Thanksgiving comes my mind often turns to Uncle, the one that isn't able to call and check in or argue with me about my politics.  He lived on the other side of the country and our time together as I grew up was limited.  But I remember, with clarity, the night we had right before I left on mission. He took me to sushi, we sat around the round table and he played his guitar.  He didn't once answer his phone or even look at it.  He was present. And though it seemed like nothing at the time, it means everything to me now.  He saw me that night, saw my fears of leaving the 'ailing' parents and relationships that were perhaps something more than nothing.  He saw my fears of not knowing enough about what I was going to do.  He spoke of things that I needed to hear. Even now, the memory of his presence is tangible. 

The parents, in their last month of time on the other side of the world, have lived without so much that we deem necessary on this side.  They have seen a life that I have never experienced.  They have given their all to the betterment of a people.  As I've read of their experiences I've found a common thread, simplicity.  Being where they are when they are there, listening to the voice that is speaking rather than preparing for the next question.  Even more in this month, since the storm, their focus has been on the 'now' that they exist in and being grateful for it, for the air they are breathing, the water they are drinking, and the hope that energizes them for one more day.  They are present.

CA was asking the other day as my emotions got away from me, turns out I cry all of the time, about Good Man.  I attempted to change the subject to PacMan or Boss or sports {baha!} but after 13 years of me he knows how to avoid my avoidance tactics.   He sent me a wrap up of the whole situation after I had used words, he does that because I don't write things down and my memory sucks.  He used a lot of words, which is excellent, but the ones that matter now and to this subject are these, "{Good Man} heard you.  You weren't fixing a problem together. You were not avoiding a problem together. He talked to you and you talked to him. You were enjoying life together for the time that you were together. You don't do that unless you are with me." He's right.  I was there, in that, for a minute.  And that's probably why I enjoyed it so much.  It's probably why PacMan has been told to give me a minute to regroup, so that I can enjoy time with him and not be focused on 973 other things.  

So, this week and as I venture into next month with goals of understanding a few things that the CAs brought up and finishing the 'changes' that were requested by the guy that has my book in his hands, I am going to put the phone/computer/distractions away.  I'm going to focus on my family.  I'm going to focus on my friends.  I'm going to focus on the reason why my world is as great as it is.  I'm going to be present in my conversations.  I'm going to be grateful for the chance I have to put things aside and focus on the important things in my life.  It seems simple, it seems like a goal given by a frustrated teacher to 17 year olds, it seems like something that the 78 year old grandmother asks her grandchildren that are sitting in her living room but not talking to her.  But I'm not going to have her ask.  I'm not going to frustrate CA with the 'tricks and information' that the phone brings.  I'm going to be present and productive.  Grateful and gracious to those I'm with when I'm with them.  Because, as I sit here with Uncle fresh on my mind and on the brink of the parents return, all I can wish for is their undivided attention.  Because, if I'm being frank (700 words later), I miss that attention and the peace that accompanies the undivided attention of someone that cares for you. I'm grateful for CA and our time together on the same side of the booth.

Ready Ready Ready to Run

Yesterday I was in a MOOD. The usual suspects saw/heard my moody tone early on in the day and attempted to make life better.  But I had chosen to be ornery and no funny video or song on the voicemail was going to change my mind.

I got into Bleu after work, where I was far from productive, and called my Physical Therapist (PT).

"Hey, Kas. Are you calling to reschedule on me for tomorrow?"
"No! I need to talk to you."
"Well, its a good thing you called and I answered then."  He normally would have gotten a laugh out of me for that but I was on a mission and could not be thrown with his charm today.  His charm gets me to do all sorts of things I would normally refuse, like go up and down one step for 12 minutes to show him I can keep my shoulders back and not add pressure to my lower back because I'm lifting my legs properly.
"I need you to tell me I can run."
"No, I'm sorry.  You can't run. Also, you hate running."
"I've got to move and today I need to run, please."
"No, I'm sorry.  You can't run Kasi. You have a fractured L2. No batting of the eyes or well timed gaze is going to get you running. I like men."
"Okay, let's say that you said I could run.  What would my parameters be?"
"I didn't say you could run."
"Let's say you did.  I need to run or punch someone and as the latter is not quite my style, let's have me run."
"I'd rather have you punch someone."
"Let's say you'd rather have me run."
"Okay, if you were to go running without my approval I would tell you to stay away from the downhill and wear your brace.  I'd also tell you to stop running every two minutes and walk three so that you could see if you've ruined all of the work we've done."
"Okay, that's all I needed."
"Kasi, are you going running?"
"Yes."
Heavy sighs and then a wish for me not to completely kill myself.

I got home, made a bit of a mess of my space simply because creating chaos when you feel a bit chaotic is logical to me.  Then I tied my shoes and hit the pavement.

Folks!! I ran and I ran and I ran!! I have never been a runner, I'd do 2-a-days at Bikram to avoid running even a quarter of a mile.  But there was something therapeutic about the rhythm of my shoes hitting the pavement. I turned on Murdoch (who still gets a child named for him) and ran.  I did stop once or twice to be sure I hadn't killed myself or done something that PT wouldn't be able to fix.  But I was just fine.  My body knew it needed to get out. So Murdoch and I made our way through the fall trees, watched a beautiful sunset, smelling fall, and made it to institute (church mid-week class ~ it's a new thing I'm trying).  I was feeling excellent.  I had let go of the MOOD somewhere between mile 4 and 5 I think. Mile six had me beat but it felt so great to be in charge of my body, not letting it determine my sobriety or activity.

Also, God is funny. It was announced that class was on COMMUNICATION in relationships. Of course it was. I looked towards the heavens, laughed, and sent Boy a text indicating just how hilarious life can be. I was thrown a bit of a break when the teacher discussed the 96-97 Bulls vs. Jazz championship, won by the Bulls.

PT texted late last night.
"you dead?"
"Alive and well."
"you on meds?"
"No."
"are you sure you are not on meds?"
"Yes."
"did you run?"
"Yes! And I liked it."
"you are on drugs. i'll check in tomorrow."

But remember how I loved running yesterday? I just may do it again today.  I'm not in a mood.  But guys, I loved it.

Also, to add to that 'runners high' (which I thought was fake until yesterday), my D Rose is playing like a champ!! Diet (I love that all of you just pronounced his name wrong), Boy's boy,  and Good Man have indicated preseason is worth nothing but they are wrong.  Preseason is our vocal warm-up, it's our stretching ... it's vital.  It makes us happy. Tuesday night's regular season opener in Miami will increase my low blood pressure (thank you Gramps for that, its better than the lack of butt that comes from you as well) to be sure but cause my heart to soar with excitement as the two finest players in the league go head-to-head.

Also, I ran into Susan the other day at City Creek.  I'm certain it is because I haven't seen her since before Sherrie passed but there was a wave of relief that hit me as we spoke.  She reminded me of home.  She reminded me that the missionaries I love are out there, in third world countries, eating goat legs like its normal and more than happy with their Calling at current time.  It reminded me that people are kind and good, instinctively. It reminded me that people care for people, no matter how stubborn a person can be.  It reminded me that sometimes leaving work at 230 to meander City Creek is exactly what should be done.

Also, my parents come home in 54 sleeps.  Sister Bells will be home in 7 sleeps.  I'll be in CA in 8 sleeps, not running but rather facing life. Life is good, I'm a runner now.