3 Sisters 7 Days

These were Maz’s departing words as he heads out for Elk Hunting.

Maybe one day I will understand the whole “hunting” thing. I grew up in Orange County, CA with nothing but the beach and cement. I honestly didn’t even know people actually hunted…until I met Maz.  It’s the craziest sport; it doesn’t always make sense. I don’t even know if I would call it a sport, even; all they do is sit there with guns in their hands.

Last night, thanks to our brother Danny’s inquiries, I asked Maz if the animals are color blind. “Yes, they are.” Okay, since you have orange for safety reasons to keep other hunters aware of your presence and then you have camouflage to to hide from the animals…why don’t you combine the two? Then you won’t have different sets of clothes, right? Danny and I thought this was a brilliant idea- camouflage orange!

Maz didn’t really catch on to our idea, he shrugged like we just don’t understand the dynamics of hunting.  He is right. I may never understand why men would want to be outside in the freezing cold for days with no showers and sleep in a tent on a cot in dirty clothes?!  Worst of all no Starbucks, Dutch Bros., Coffee Bean or even vanilla creamer. He doesn’t even know if there will be coffee! I really don’t understand and I am okay with that.

That said, I do hope he catches, shoots or kills something to get it out of his system. I won’t eat the meat, but I feel my role is to be supportive in any activity that makes him feel like a man. Go MAZ!

We’ll see what he comes home with

Allow me to preface my remarks with I know it may be illegal to ride a bike on the sidewalk in California. And I realize that, according to the Riverside, CA Municipal Code Section 10.64.310, “no person shall ride on a sidewalk” unless authorized. That’s not the point.

What is? The raging lunatic of an old woman who verbally attacked me and my daughter this morning because we scared her poodle when we rode past her on the sidewalk.

On Tuesdays, I park at a shopping center near campus, and my children and I bike the rest of the way to my building. Because a center divider makes it impossible to turn left out of the parking lot, we ride the roughly 75 feet – max – between where I park in the morning and the nearest signal. We cross at that point, and ride the rest of the way into campus.

We have NEVER had a problem.

This morning, we found ourselves following an older woman, who was walking a shaggy, golden brown poodle. Naturally, we slowed way down. In fact, I was dragging a foot on the ground as I scooted to the signal. Then the woman looked over her shoulder and side-stepped onto the grass that borders the sidewalk in the manner of many a pedestrian who has stepped aside to let a faster walker, runner, or bicyclist pass. So we did.

Wrong move, apparently. The shaggy poodle jumped, and then turned to paw on the woman’s sweat pant – clad leg. The woman exploded: “Get off the sidewalk … *%@*%! Don’t you know you’re supposed to ride in the street, idiot!” I’d passed her, so she was effectively yelling at my daughter. Under the circumstances, her reaction and language were entirely unwarranted, and unacceptable.

I stopped then, got off my bike, and attempted to apologize for startling the woman, before explaining that I didn’t appreciate her language. But this woman would not stop. “It’s illegal, you know, to ride on the sidewalk…bikes belong in the street…” Way past any interest on my part in apologizing, I tried to explain that we were not “riding on the sidewalk” and would have reached the signal and been across the street already, if not for her tirade. Tried is key here. She just kept on, and her language only deteriorated.

Unable to get a word in edge-wise, I ended my role in the conversation with “Don’t blame us because your stupid dog jumped on you.” She turned left at the corner where we went right across the street. She was still going: “It’s illegal to ride on the sidewalk, you *%@% stupid idiot…You’d be sorry if you hurt me or my dog…I’d see you in court *%@%…”

Current research on “post menopausal” women suggests that they become less bitchy with age. Maybe so, but not if they’re raving mad.

This morning at around 6am Maz comes through the garage door, “The Civic won’t start.”

“Umm, okay.”  There isn’t much for me to say given he is the mechanic.  I suggest, “Take the Pilot,” but he isn’t satisfied with my solution.  He is a bit angry since his truck broke last night on the way home from work, so finding the Civic is having trouble first thing this morning wasn’t the way he planned to start the day.

The Civic never has problems, plus I had just had the oil changed on Thursday and everything was good to go…

Then Maz asked, “Do you think it’s out of gas?” Honestly, I wouldn’t know since I don’t drive the car too often and the Pilot (the car I drive) is sitting in the garage with a half a tank.  There is no way the Civic is out of gas; I have had that car for seven years and I have never run out of gas! I think there is at least a 2 gallon reserve, which should get you about 60 miles.

He darts for the shed and grabs our gas for the mower.

The next thing I hear is the garage door shutting…

His excuse was that the car wasn’t actually out of gas; it was the slope of the driveway which shifted the remaining fuel.

A funny thing happened on the way to finishing my post on last weekend’s Nike Women's San Francisco Marathon. A diatribe on California’s premier public transportation system (trains halted by rain!); Nike’s exceedingly corporate “race” organization (all queries led to the Nike Store); and an uninspiring route (four miles of ugly highway following ten miles of hills – honestly, whose great idea was that?) turned to a slippery slope of gratitude. Bottom line, we – Terri, our brother Danny, and I – finished.

Long after the sore knees and calves and feet disappear, and our niggling complaints about the race fade even in memory, we will run other races. (In fact, we’re already planning for San Diego 2010.) I only wish I could say as much about our brother Craig. Craig, who died in a motorcycle accident earlier this year, actually got us into the San Francisco marathon. He added Terri and me to a mixed gender team on the off chance that would give us an advantage in the marathon lottery. So there really was no way that Terri or I could back out. Then Danny, who hadn’t run more than a mile in over a decade, “stepped up” as the family’s fittest male alternate for Craig’s place on our team; he went from couch potato to marathoner in six months!

We ran THIS marathon as a tribute to him.

Still, as I sit gearing up for my first post-race run, I know that Craig will remain in mind every time I run. My entire adult life has been, in part, organized around my runs, and a lot of the angst of everyday living has been bound by them, held in check by my training and the rhythms of my tip-toe gait. Craig’s death destroyed all that. Yet I think Anne Lamott's right on when she says, "Grief sucks," and even more so when she explains that:

A fixation can keep you nicely defined and give you the illusion that your life has not fallen apart. But since your life may indeed have fallen apart, the illusion won’t hold up forever, and if you are lucky and brave, you will be willing to bear the disillusion. You begin to cry and writhe and yell and then to keep on crying; and then, finally, grief ends up giving you the two best things: softness and illumination.

Yeah, what appears to be running away may turn out to be running toward that “light.”

Thank you, Craig and God keep you well.

The strangest thing happened to me last night while working in the Footwear department at REI.  I do get a lot of inquiries about employment at REI, probably because we all seem happy to be there and we are energetic and love to talk about the outdoors. And I am thinking the AMAZING discount isn’t anything to laugh at…it is well worth the price to be happy and joyful at a retail establishment – working odd hours and, let’s not forget, working Saturday and Sunday most weeks…

So, this older man was buying a pair of Keens for his casual shoe and he was asking about employment. I could definitely tell he had paid his dues at some large corporation by his aging gray hair. He is thinking of retiring in January after the big bonus and though it would be fun to work at REI, leaving him time to golf during the day.  I told him I know exactly what he meant…get rid of the 9-5 office job and get something new and refreshing so you can enjoy your days you worked so hard for. Huh? That’s a concept. And it got me thinking.

I retired after two years of an office/cube job for bigger and better things (still waiting). I wanted to enjoy my days and be able to hike and run in the afternoons if I wanted to. I didn’t want some company telling me when I can take a vacation or when I can’t leave early on a beautiful day… I work at REI for those reason, but do you think I missed the boat? Do I need to work 30 years for a company and have retirement funds and bonuses to enjoy my afternoons and mornings?  Hmm…

Yesterday was a bit slow for me. I wasn’t on my “A” game, and barely had enough motivation to head to Target and the bank. I really felt a good strong workout was in order. So, last night I decided to take part in the final track practice before the Nike Women’s San Francisco Marathon this Sunday. I really thought I would get some last minute tips before heading to California, maybe find out how to handle the hills, and get one more “push” before the big day.

As it turned out, the Denver representative for Team in Training was at the track practice for a mentor meeting.  I guess I am not good with on the spot decisions … or should I say I am great at on the spot decisions? “Sure” was my quick response to “Do you want to mentor for the next season?” Next thing I knew, I was joining the huddle with a binder in my hand going over our roles as mentors.  Wait a minute, I thought, “I am supposed to be part of the group heading over to the track for the last workout before the big day…”

So, it looks like I will be participating once again with Team in Training, but this time as a non-fundraising mentor. As I understand it, this means that I go to the Tuesday track practices and Saturday morning long runs to encourage the fundraising participants.  It should be a great experience, and I do enjoy running, and there is nothing wrong with learning a few more things from the experienced coach.  I know Team in Training is a good cause… I just wish I got offered positions that involve making money…Maybe one day .

I once read a terrific essay in Los Angeles Times Magazine that bemoaned the social and environmental ills associated with Southern California’s car culture, yet recognized that nowhere else can you routinely find women in minvans loaded with children, groceries, and whatnot flawlessly crossing multiple lanes of traffic, all while carrying on cell-phone conversations. For me, this is a team effort.

Our current week includes a 30-mile  trip from Riverside into Orange County that is bearable, in terms of duration, because we have a Fast Track pass. It is possible only because my racing team – consisting of my three older children – directs me so successfully from the far left, where the 91 freeway Fast Track lane ends at the 55 freeway, to our exit at Lincoln in Orange.

“Okay, guys,” I call over my shoulder as I turn the music off, “am I clear?”

Right side team members take their positions. “Go! Mom…I said, ‘Go!’”

I look in my mirror and over my shoulder, before asking, “Clear?”

“Yeah, go!”

“Clear?”

“Go! Do you need to get over again?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

And we glide off the freeway, and prepare for our left hand turn.

Sometimes, I can’t help thinking my children are SO lucky!

Neither of my parents drove with a team. Consequently, the first time I was instructed, “Now get over, and exit,” I took one look at the traffic passing on my right and opted to sail right on by. Later, when my dad would force me to drive home from college in Los Angeles, I dreaded the transition from the 405 freeway to the 22 freeway – a terrorizing five or six lane series of moves I had to manage in the space of two exits! I remember my dad covering his face with one hand and holding onto the dashboard with the other, clearly regretting his decision to “make” me drive.

While I’m sure that members of my “racing team” are likely to much more confident drivers than I was, I’m far less certain that will make ME anymore comfortable than my dad was when I drove.

As a home-schooling family, the issue of “socialization” accompanies EVERY new academic year. While most of the children in our life pick out the perfect outfit for the first day of school, pack their lunches and back packs, and set off for the neighborhood public school, however broadly understood, ours sit down at the kitchen table and begin reading…in their pajamas.

This year’s heated discussion began with a cross country race. A friends’ daughter completed her first high school cross country race.

“I don’t even want to talk about it!” my spouse, a firm believer in the virtues of the public high school socialization scheme, spat, as he left the room. (Notably, this was the same day that our son placed third in the season’s first bouldering (rock climbing without ropes) competition, but my spouse regards working out and competing with other climbers as somehow less valuable than participating on a high school team. And he has lots of company…)

Many of our friends have children beginning high school this year, and it seems that most of their children are running cross country – my spouse’s sport of choice in high school, and foundation for his most longstanding friendships to date. I’m a fan of long-distance running, no question. I’m even persuaded by Christopher McDougall'sargument that “running makes us better people.” I just have a hard time believing that high school, even if limited to the cross country team, is the BEST venue for socialization and the only reputable source of life-long friendships.

Thankfully, I’m not alone.

Studies indicate that when socialization is defined in terms of children learning to live among other upstanding humans, as opposed to learning to survive among their immature peers (if you need a refresher, check out William Golding’s Lord of the Flies), home-schooling easily trumps public schools. It also increases children’s self-esteem. How?

1) Home schooled children participate in life. Under the supervision of their parents, they learn to get along with a wide range of others – particularly in age and gender, but also in terms of race, ethnicity, religion, and socio-economic status – and form and maintain relationships with adult mentors.

2) Free from the business of the public school classroom, that can serve chiefly to keep children entertained and out of trouble, home-schooled children learn to be comfortable being alone and, more importantly, to entertain themselves.

3) Home-schooled children read more than their public schooled peers. Reading, contemplating, and discussing literature has been the foundation of challenging educational programs for centuries; however, it is particularly important to the question of childhood socialization because such reading begets the kinds of questions that motivate social action, change, and improvement.

If this were not enough, the most recent report on adults who were home schooled suggest that home-schoolers are sufficiently well socialized to outperform their public school peers throughout life:

1) 74% of home-schooled children go to college, compared to 46% of their public school educated peers who do so.

2) They also get jobs in a wide range of professions from farming to professional leader.

3) 71% are involved in their communities, as leaders and volunteers as well as voters, compared to the 37% of public school graduates who can make the same claim.

4) Nearly 100% of home-schooled adults report being happy, and enjoy life.

5) And over 75% of home-schooled adults agree that their parents’ educational choice has been advantageous for them as adults.

In light of these data, I’m stumped. If parents don’t send their children to public school – especially public high school – for the academics, then why do they? Clearly, sacrificing an academic education for a social one isn’t the answer.