public transit

It's not that I don't like driving.
Because actually I do, and always have.
But I hate parking. and looking for parking.
And so, in this city, without a designated parking space of our own, we tend to avoid driving.
I bike commute, because it's simplest, although it still requires more thought and planning than hopping in the car.
El Bandito bike commutes, although he's gotten bored with his route after a number of years. And so somedays he takes transit.

Today, I had errands to run that just weren't practical by bike.
I spent a lot of time on transit, but it was efficient and effective.
It's not always, in this city with its dysfunctional transit system.
Today, it was.  And every day, it moves thousands of people around... to jobs, for errands, taking people to places they want to go (and to places they don't, I suppose).

Simply grateful that today all the connections were simple and the timing was good.

My mother, on her 70th birthday.

I am grappling with the concept of my mother being 70. Which the calendar says is true today.

In my mind, she's the 40-year old who went back to work when I was in elementary school, setting off each morning in her walking shoes with her lunch and left-overs. Who swam at lunch. Who set an example of being a capable working woman who took care of herself and her family.

In my mind, she's the mid-40s breast cancer survivor.  Hard to believe that her mastectomy was more than 2 decades ago. Not that I ever actually believed she wasn't going to survive that. She was my mother. She *is* my mother.

In my mind, she's the computer programmer on call late at night.

In my mind, she's the woman who fell asleep on the chest freezer b/c she was so, so, tired and had been taking care of her injured and whining teenage daughter for too many nights running.

In my mind, she's the woman in her early 50s who asked me what I wanted for my 21st birthday and when I said "24 pink and green giraffes" she found a drawing of two giraffes, photocopied it a dozen times, and colored them in with pink and green highlighters.

In my mind, she's the woman who sent me little cards of encouragement through difficult grad school years. Who has knit me so many sweaters.

In my mind, she's in her mid-50s, making the food for my wedding. Baking the cake. Refitting the wedding dress she made me in last minute alterations.

In my mind, she's not *70*.  Nothing wrong with 70. I know fabulous, sharp-as-a-tack, spry and lively 70-year-olds. But my mother's not supposed to get "old". She's my mother. She will always be my mother. And my friend. And for that, I am so very thankful.

books. libraries. book recommendations.

I come from a family of readers.
My sister once famously missed her entire 6th grade class leaving the (1-room) school library because she was reading.
And El Bandito has more than once had to repeat things I wasn't paying attention to because I was reading.

Sometimes I read for distraction.

Sometimes I read for entertainment.

Sometimes I read for education.

I also read really damn fast. For years, I just thought that was how everybody read. A novel would be a way to pass an hour, maybe two if it was serious. Sometimes 3.  I've read a lot.

I read non-fiction if it's a topic that vaguely interests me.

And I'll read just about anything fiction-wise, although I'll gripe if it's poorly written or if I can't suspend my disbelief. As someone I know once said, this means I've read more really good books and more complete trash than most people will read in their lifetimes. 

So, I find it hard to choose books -- what will get me through the flight, what will make me laugh or cry? What won't fall into the category of "did I really spend an hour with that tripe"?

Every time I travel, I put out a call for book recommendations and garner suggestions from friends.
And my phone is full of photos from bookstores, with titles that looked interesting while browsing.
Some friends will hand me books, knowing that it's not that I have more time to read, but that the time I have is condensed, and so I'll get it back to them quickly.

Today, in another gratitude-blogger's post, I found a book recommendation. Which will hopefully arrive in the electronic edition from the library in time to get me through part of a long flight.

Grateful for all the ways to lose myself in another world...

fresh from the oven

today's gratitude could be ...

... that running multiple errands this afternoon still involved tasty Vietnamese sandwiches...

or that the plumbing leak in the upstairs flat only caused the ceiling in our bath to buckle and drip, not collapse...

or that El Bandito threw together a delicious dinner despite playing phone tag with plumbers and landlords...

and yes, I am grateful for all of those things.

but also for the ability and time to throw together a batch of banana bread, 4 miniloaves.  it's a simple thing, but banana bread satisfies my desire to avoid waste, and to make something delicious for El Bandito (because realistically, his intake of baked goods is probably about 3 times mine).  and it was a good end to an ordinary weekend day.

Feline fuzzballs

productivity

I've been feeling underutilized at work recently.
Hell, not recently. Throughout the last several years.
But this job pays the bills. Allows me to go to trapeze without guilt.
Helps us travel.
And to afford nice bottles of wine and the good coffee we love.
Lets me still think about science -- and that might be part of the problem.
My scientific training makes me cautious and conservative in data analysis and experiments. Clinical research is rarely that clean and well-designed.

Though I forget sometimes, some of the research I'm doing really does help people. Not abstractly, not in the "world of the future" but *now*.

That's kind of cool.

Today, I felt productive. No major project ticked off, no breakthroughs or finished papers or anything like that. Just a good, solid day's work, where I felt like I used my mind again.

Grateful for that feeling.

quiet miles

I am, somewhat in spite of myself, "training" for a half-marathon at the beginning of February.
Training casually, trying to increase my weekly mileage and frequency, but without sacrificing trapeze time. Or, for that matter, time with El Bandito or friends or holidays or... yeah. So, it's not an optimal way to train for an athletic event, but it's a way to train around my life.

The miles have been accumulating.

I am grateful that El Bandito accommodates my exercise needs and desires. That he doesn't grumble when  I schedule events around my planned runs (or around my trapeze and circus conditioning).

Grateful that running gives me better stamina on the trapeze, even as it reduces my flexibility and makes me work harder.
That running gives my mind time to wander and work through things.
That sometimes, running comes down to my footfalls and my breathing and not very much else.

That sometimes, running is views and awe. And sometimes, running is the fog and not seeing more than 30 feet in front of me in the misty park.

Grateful for the miles these shoes have taken me, in the quiet late evenings and the few early mornings.
For the strength in my legs, the power in my heart that lets me do these things.
For the friends who have decided that perhaps this crazy running business isn't truly so crazy -- or, if it so crazy, they're willing to partake in the insanity with me.
For the solo runs.
For the camaraderie of the other runners on the roads and paths, the nods and smiles of acknowledgement.

I've grown to love running. I knew I missed it when I was told with the ankle injury in 2010 that I couldn't run. Missing it isn't the same as loving it. But as I start to run longer, farther, more often, I start to crave it.

I'm grateful for the ability to run. To, from, towards, away. For the quiet solo miles I've been logging on my early evening runs. For all that those miles give me.