Moving On

Trea and I left our little house in the woods last week. We're still in the same area, but we moved to town, near restaurants and shopping and bike trails, to a neighborhood where I can finally walk out the front door and run on safe roads with sidewalks. We're in our dream house, where we never actually believed we would be. 

This is what we wanted, and yet, I'm nostalgic for our first house. 

Just after we moved in, 2007.

It's where Trea proposed before we even had a key to the front door. 

And after our wedding, it's where I hung the necklace I wore and where it stayed for 5 years, making me smile every time I saw it.

It's where we brought home baby Bella.

Where we made things beautiful.

Where we learned new things.

It's where we found ourselves.

We have so many memories in that house. It's the only place we've ever lived, so it feels like our entire history is there. 

We shed so many tears leaving this place, but I think we made the right decision. The new house holds lots of possibilities, and I'm so excited to go for a run in our new neighborhood as soon as I recover from all the unpacking. 

But a little piece of me will always miss our house in the woods. It was exactly what we needed when we needed it -- the perfect place for our beginning.

Being quiet

Where have I been for over a month? I've been being quiet. (Well, first I went to Puerto Rico, and then I was quiet.) I've loved writing in this space, but lately, I just haven't had a clear direction in my life. So I've been quiet while I try to figure out what's next. Lately, life has gotten the best of me.

Every day is busy. Every evening is packed with my to-do list that never ends. Every moment is filled. Every second is noise. There's no time to do the things I love. I'm barely running, barely reading, barely speaking to friends and family. Last week, I decided to stop and get away, even if for only an hour.

On a gorgeous sunny day, I left work to grab lunch, intending to drive thru Chick-Fil-A like I always do, and rush back to my desk to keep working. And then I changed my mind. I saw the drive-thru line madness, thought of the intercom that never understands me, and I took myself out to lunch at a little cafe on our downtown square. Table for one, please.

I felt the breeze. I soaked up the sun. I was quiet.

And when lunch was over, I still wasn't ready to leave my solitude. Working out lately has been sporadic and half-hearted. I certainly can't call it training, even though I have a race this weekend (and no, I don't want to talk about it). So I decided to use my quiet time to move my feet. I was in business clothes, so I didn't run. Instead, I left my car on the square and walked about a mile or so back to the office. Down my favorite street in the world. Through someone's sprinkler.

I got back to my desk a little damp and with a smile on my face. And after work, I did it all again to retrieve my car. There are a lot of days when I drive straight to work, sit at my desk for hours, and drive straight home and sit on the couch. But not this day.

I'm determined to have more days like this. Even if I only spend 30 minutes, and whether it's walking or running or riding my bike, I will spend more time being quiet. Then I'll figure out what's next and find my voice again.

Running through my hometown

The only way to truly see a city is on foot. When you aren't whizzing by in a car, you see things you never would have noticed. That's one of my favorite things about running -- seeing things that have been there all along like it's the first time.

Last weekend, Trea and I had 6 miles to run, and we were in my tiny hometown of Stamps, Arkansas. This town is not impressive, and it has about 2,000 residents on a busy day. I had no idea how to run 6 miles through such a teeny hamlet, so we saw about every square inch of the place, zig-zagging up and down every block. Just as we were leaving my parents' house, Trea's iPod battery croaked, so I spent an hour giving him a tour of where I grew up, trying to keep him entertained.

The downtown triangle. No, it isn't big enough to have a square.
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Stamps isn't exactly runner friendly. The few sidewalks that exist are cracked and falling apart, and it seems a requirement to have at least one dog guarding every front porch -- none of them fenced in or tied up. It's a town of elderly drivers, big trucks and outdoorsmen. But I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed running there.

It's funny to try to give a "tour" of a place where you haven't lived in over a decade and where little happens. I blurted things out in short, breathless bursts as we ran, random snippets of fuzzy flashes from my childhood. "That's where my friend, Fabian, lived. He had a band." "That's where Aunt Lou lived. She kept every card and picture she ever got in her giant Bible."

The last time I toured this town on foot, I was too young to drive. Most of the things I remember aren't there anymore, but it's still good to go back and see what memories I've kept tucked away. Like the time I got in trouble for stealing a piece of gum at Hamilton's, a grocery store that closed down long ago and always smelled of fried chicken. Or how Miss Eva and Miss Betty at Petrey's would write down my purchases -- a Coke in a glass bottle and an orange sherbet push-up -- and send mom a bill at the end of the month. My grandmother's beautiful church, the softball field where we confirmed that I do not have hand/eye coordination, the band hall where I was forced to learn to play the recorder.

There are hardly any businesses left on our little downtown triangle, but Griffin's Pharmacy is still there -- where I used to play with my best friend and get Coke floats from her mom at the soda fountain. And thankfully, the Stamps Cafe is still going strong. After 6 windy, hilly miles, we were so happy to scarf down homemade burgers and fries. Their food is easily better than Red Robin, hands down.

The Stamps Cafe wastes no energy on aesthetic appeal. It's all about the food!
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The difference between Stamps and where I live now is stark. One is slowly fading, and the other is booming. But I see beauty in both. Who says you can never go home?

Where I live: A running tour

When I'm in a running rut...or any kind of rut...sometimes it helps to stop and reevaluate my perspective. To look for the positive things in life and stop focusing on the negative things I can't change. So instead of spending my Friday evening run staring at my Garmin, pushing myself to keep a fast pace, feeling like a failure when I can't and worrying if I'll be able to finish a marathon, I decided to take you on a tour of my hometown. I left my iPod in the car, ignored my Garmin and took a closer look -- a real look -- into this beautiful place where I live.

On a perfect, crisp fall evening, just before sunset, I didn't run my 6 miles at tempo pace. I ran and walked 3.4, and I do not feel like a failure for it. Instead, I took pictures. I meandered. I daresay I moseyed. I reminded myself why I love our little downtown square, and I remembered why I love to run. There's no better way to see a city.

 

My favorite place to run is down Central Avenue. I'm always guaranteed to see other runners, cyclists and families out for a stroll. And in this alley, you can get the best grilled cheese on the planet from Hammontree's Grillenium Falcon.

I adore Central, and nothing makes me happier than running down the tree-lined sidewalk, ducking under branches and admiring the 100-year-old homes and manicured lawns. 

These houses, with their generous front porches, wooden swings and fall wreaths just make me smile.

In my town, tiny parks are tucked away in neighborhoods. I run by this one all the time, and I always think how pretty it is, but I never fully appreciate it. This time, I stopped and smelled the flowers. For real.

 

I also love running by the old high school. Home of the Tigers. My school looked nothing like this, but it still brings back happy memories of Friday night football games, pep rallies and friends.

 

 

I love living in a town where people lock their doors, but they probably don't have to. I also love that it's pumpkin decorating season.

 

I ran from downtown over to Compton Gardens, where Trea and I had our wedding reception. It's a former home that is used for private events, and I love how it's nestled in the trees, in the middle of town, but secluded. Lucky for me, someone was having a party, so all the twinkle lights were on, I could smell whatever fancy food they were cooking, and there was a jazz piano and singer that I could hear from far away. I ran down the path toward Crystal Bridges, just as the sun went down, and I was so happy to hear the piano music wafting through the trees. (Does sound waft? You know what I mean.)

A run that I had dreaded all day turned into the perfect evening. Running without my iPod is one of the best decisions I've made in months. I love music, but even my favorite songs are someone else's noise, someone else's thoughts. It was nice just to be quiet and listen to the streets.

I made my way back to my car and was delighted to see it was time for Pickin' on the Square! People bring guitars, fiddles and any other kind of instrument they can carry, and they put on a show. There were literally people with guitars on every corner. Spectators bring lawn chairs and blankets and settle in for gospel and country music. I LOVED it. This is also where the boot-wearing, cowboy hat-loving citizens come out of the woodwork. 

When I left work on Friday, I didn't want to run. All I wanted to do was go home and relax. Would this night have been better spent on the couch watching TV? No way. I hope you enjoyed my running tour; I know I did!

Does your life fit in a bag?

If you pack an emergency bag for a natural disaster - like a tornado - what exactly do you put in it? How do you prepare for your home and belongings to blow away? These are questions I had never asked myself until this week.

My weekend started with sunshine, a cool breeze and a 4-mile run with a friend. I ran through downtown Bentonville, through the Farmers Market, by what had to be a 75-year-old woman cruising happily on her bicycle, past houses with smiling people in rocking chairs who called out, "Good morning," and by the splash park, where kids were squealing as they ran through jets of water. It was a lovely, Mayberry kind of day.

On Sunday, the weekend just got better. I made brunch and nailed my first ever attempt at a frittata. Then I spent the afternoon reading Runner's World and lounging lazily in the swing on the deck, admiring the flowers Trea had just planted. I couldn't wait to tell you all about my picture perfect weekend.

But while I lay in the sun, concerned only with tan lines, the city of Joplin, Missouri - only an hour north of my house - was being destroyed. I saw the news first on Twitter, but I didn't think it could be that bad. Then I turned on the TV. I live just an hour away, and our weather was fine...at the moment. Within a couple of hours, we had our own storm system approaching, and I spent the rest of the evening huddled with Trea and the dogs in our crawlspace under the house, as tornado warning after tornado warning got extended later into the night. (Thankfully, we live on a hillside, so our crawlspace has lights and room to stand up. It's not pretty, but it's not as terrible as it sounds.)

Later, as the country watched the horrific news coverage of Joplin, we started getting new warnings in northwest Arkansas about a particularly dangerous situation brewing for Tuesday. Our weathermen were predicting impending doom, and after Joplin, no one doubted them. Events all over town were canceled. People left work early to get home and hunker down before the storms hit. I even bought a weather radio, which I've never bothered with before. I also wanted to pack a bag to take with me to our safe place. But how do you pack one bag...to never come home?

I ran through all the possible scenarios: If our house was damaged by a tornado, we might have to leave and stay somewhere else until it's repaired. What would I need to take with me? Our house could be completely destroyed. What would I want to save? Or the worst thing I could imagine was our house being destroyed - while trapping us under the rubble. What would we need to survive? I looked at my bag, and then I looked at my home. I had no idea where to start. 

I packed a flashlight, batteries for the weather radio, an overnight bag with toothbrushes, vital medications and my glasses. I packed a multi-tool for working our way out of a jam, and work gloves to protect our hands if we had to move big sharp stuff out of the way. 

I packed a first aid kit, an umbrella, Pop Tarts and phone chargers. I also threw in our Garmins because, well, you know. I wore my running shoes and my wedding ring. Before the bad weather started, we took some blankets, jugs of water and dog food to our safe place, and planned to grab our emergency bag only if we had to actually take shelter. I also had the laptop and iPad ready to go so we could stream the weather coverage and watch from the crawlspace as long as battery life and electricity for WiFi held out.

I'll make a long story short and let you know we're OK. We had to take shelter for a short time during a tornado warning, but the storm weakened, and we were able to relax. But the conversations we had to have that day will always stick with me. 

Should we take our marriage license? It's in a fireproof safe, but that won't stop it from blowing away. But we decided, no, leave it. We're just as married whether a piece of paper survives or not. It's more important to pack life-saving supplies. Should we pack the letters we exchanged on our wedding day that we plan to read on our 25th anniversary? No. That's just paper. If we never get to read those letters, it won't change our commitment to each other. And I saw more clearly something I already knew: the most important things don't fit in bags, and you can't take them with you. The most important thing is our family. As long as Trea is safe, I don't need a bag of stuff. It's just stuff.

After we went to bed Tuesday night, the entire community of Denning, Arkansas, was destroyed by storms that had decided to leave our house alone. I don't understand tornadoes, and I don't know if anyone can ever truly be prepared for a disaster like Joplin or Tuscaloosa. I can't predict how I might respond if I had to endure that kind of destruction. But I've taken inventory, and I know what's important. And it will never fit in a bag.

Put on your happy pants

How do you deal when everything goes wrong? When Murphy and his law are out to get you? When a bad day just gets worse and you become jealous of Alexander from that book? Do you grin and bear it, or do you take it out on those who dare to have better days?

Lately, I've had a lot of bad days. Last week, on my way home from a business trip, the pilot didn't show up for my flight. While I was stuck in the airport, I was assigned a stressful, kind-of-a-big-deal project with a deadline only a few hours away. And since there was no Wi-Fi, rendering my laptop an unwieldy paperweight, I was left to peck away on my blackberry, cursing the pilot who never showed. Several hours later, I finally made it home and had never been so glad to see my driveway. My bad day was over! I walked inside to learn that the air conditioner had gone out, and my living room was 85 degrees. Later, when I had located a good box fan and forgiven Delta, I sat down to blog about my bad day. But Blogger was down. Seriously.

It was one of those days.

Then, before I could even unpack my bags, I came down with the plague of all plagues. I hurt in places where I thought I was too young to hurt. There was fever, there were chills, there were saltines and ginger ale and not much else. It was ugly, and I was so down in the dumps. Just too many bad days in a row, where everything was going horribly wrong.

But of course, I got better and have resumed regularly scheduled programming. And I discovered that my complete loss of appetite for five days had given my waistline a makeover! While I do not recommend the plague diet to anyone and would not wish it on my worst enemy, I could not be happier about spending a few days in a fever-induced stupor and waking up to my figure from three years ago. I can wear my favorite skirt again!



I can wear my gray Express pants - the ones I haven't been able to sit down in since 2008! I have been trying to squeeze back into these pants every fall and spring since I got married. These pants are not stretchy, and they do not forgive even one cupcake more than my allotted daily caloric intake. So these, y'all, are my happy pants.



So today, when I arrived at work just as the skies exploded with cannon ball raindrops, I reminded myself of my happy pants. When I walked all the way (FAR!!) to my building from the parking lot through sideways rain, only to realize I had left my laptop back in the car, I walked proudly back to get it in my happy pants. I think you see where I'm going with this.

When everything that could go wrong at work went wrong. When I got stuck in the chiropractor's office without an umbrella during the second deluge of the day. When all I wanted in this world to cheer me up was a giant sweet tea from Chick-fil-A, and instead I got a big swig of UNSWEET tea after I drove away from the window. When I missed my deadline. When I got caught in a THIRD thunderstorm - this time with hail! - on my way home. When I dropped marinara sauce all over my freshly mopped kitchen floor.

When everything is going wrong, at least today, I can comfort myself with my happy pants.

Because I can't move to Australia.