A writer's staycation

Last night I told Jacob we were going to sleep as late as we wanted. We had nothing particular to do on Saturday morning, and we could sleep. I woke with a start at 8:30 (haven't slept that late in I don't know how long!) to see him standing by my bed, asking, "Can I have waffles now?" (Praise be the day he can fix his own toaster waffles!) As you may have read on Facebook, the day got hectic after that because his mother called almost instantly and wanted him dressed, fed, and teeth brushed in 15 minutes. After the flurry of getting them off to cheer for a friend doing the 5K or 10K of the Cowtown Marathon, I had the whole day before me. And I decided on a staycation. I have not written a word today except this blog and a few emails.
Not surprisingly, I spent most of the day at my desk. I was amazed at how much time I could spend reading Facebook and emails when I put my mind to it. And then I turned to checking the food magazines on my desk--they stack up fast, and today I went through four, pulled out a few recipes, and consigned the rest to the trash. I still have one to do and a clothes catalog that came today. And then there's that novel I want to read.
I did spend a fair amount of time on household chores--just making the beds, picking up clothes--Jacob flings them everywhere--and doing a load of "kitchen" laundry--hand towels, napkins, place mats, etc. And I spent an hour or two in the kitchen: made dirty rice for dinner guests for tomorrow night, tuna salad for my lunch, pea salad for those dinner guests, and an open-faced sandwich for my dinner tonight.
Christian came in and asked who was coming for dinner tomorrow. I told him my neighbors (to whom he is close) and I said, "You were invited. You declined." Christian: "Oh. I did?" Jordan had said he wanted to watch the Oscars comfortably at home--never mind that the Oscars are next Sunday. I said too late, I only bought four quail, and they both began to sputter about how they couldn't have come anyway, they have too much to do to take an hour out of their day. I wanted to point out that when I cook a big meal for company I expect them to stay more than an hour! Oh, well!
I think my mind needed a vacation. I have felt rushed, pushed, and pulled by deadlines and an urgency to get this, that and the other done. In truth, most deadlines are of my own making--if it's on my desk, I want to get it done. But nothing couldn't wait a day, and I loved my lazy day. May do it again tomorrow.
Got to go read that novel now.

A bit of Cowtown Marathon nostalgia

One Sunday, runners in the full marathon will go right past my house, and I'll sit on the front porch much of the morning and cheer them on. My daughter says she'll put signs in my yard.
I've heard various stories in recent years about who started the marathon. I was always told the idea was hatched in my living room. A group from the Institute for Human Fitness--all men, no women--met every Sunday to discuss the programs of the institute, a project of TCOM (now UNTHSC) devoted to helping people achieve wellness through physical fitness--an appropriate osteopathic concept. While they discussed fitness, a friend and I were in the kitchen fixing the richest, most sinful desserts we could imagine--I particularly remember Italian Cream Cake. And those fitness gurus ate every bite. But I was told the marathon idea sprang out of those meetings and my then-husband, Joel Alter, was one of the founders, along with Charles Ogilvie. Joel claimed the once-classic symbol of the race, Cowtown Charlie, was him, and it could have been with the big moustache. But I always thought it was Charlie Ogilvie.
The night before the first marathon we sat in the house and heard sleet. "@#$%! I didn't want sleet" was Joel's response. He left in the wee hours in the morning, and still early, I bundled up four children (one of them probably three at most) and drove over ice and snow to Fort Worth's Historic National Stockyards Discrict. In those days I worked in the Communications Office of TCOM and was doing publicity for the marathon. When we got there, I turned the children loose and spent the day doing whatever pr people do, including popping in occasionally to the RV that a local radio station had brought to the site and giving live on-air reports.
Now, I am horrified that I turned my very young children loose on the North Side, but they have assured me they were always with a huge bunch of kids. And they all survived, so I guess I should banish it from my long list of motherly guilts. They looked forward to race day every year, and, frankly, so did I. After Joel and I split, I did publicity one more year--I think to prove to him and to myself that I coiuld do it. And then I bowed out.
Charlie continued to run well into his eighties and always took first in his age group--no surprise there. Sometimes he'd take me to the carb-loading pasta dinner the night before, and I loved seeing old friends. I made a couple of really good friends through the marathon.
Today, of course, the race is a far different thing, a mega race with a full-time, year-round paid staff, probably ten times the number of runners we ever dreamed of, so many side events it makes my head spin, and this year, so I read, an exposition for runners, complete with demonstrataions of osteopathic soft-tissue maniuplation. The Institute for Human Fitness, a great concept, is long gone.
Tomorrow when those runners go by, a host of memories will flood me. Those were good days, another lifetime ago.

 

It is as it is

To my great surprise, the Cowtown Marathon came right by my front door this morning. In fact, the halfway mark was about two houses down the block. I sat out on the front porch, still grimy with winter dirt, for almost an hour, drinking coffee and watching. Every runner checked his or her watch in passing that halfway point. Across the street several people gathered to clap for each runner, my neighbors were out on their porch, and someone played wonderful, soft acoustic guitar. Sort of surreal, but also nostalgic for me. It made me miss the days when my children were young and I had such different expectations for my life (not that it hasn't turned out wonderfully). But I said to myself as I went inside to read the paper, "It is as it is."
I learned that phrase from the mattress salesman at Sleep Experts a couple of days ago. He was a born salesman, personable times ten, and I couldn't really tell if he was giving me helpful information or I was being fed a pitch (probably a bit of both). But when he said my new mattress (a Dr. Breuss mattress, aka The Sleep Doctor) was guaranteed for twenty years and would last thirty with maintenace (an expensive waterproof protector that thank goodness is not plastic), I told him I doubted I'd need it in thirty years. He said, "Not to be morbid, but it is as it is." Later when he told me my new mattress would feel different than the ones Jeannie and I had been testing, he said, "Thousands of bodies have lain on our store mattresses. Sounds awful, but it is as it is." (Jeannie, fed up with the sales pitch, had wandered away, and I was impatient for him to just finish the sale.) I can't think of all the things that prompted it, but he said, "It is as it is" at least ten or twelve times before we fled to lunch. I am thinking of adapting it as my new favorite phrase.
I've been formatting my manuscript--talk about tedious. I never ever use Spellcheck, although I do sometimes look at their alternative suggestions. But the specific and helpful formatting instructions from Turquoise Morning Press say to run Spellcheck, and I'm a rule follower. Some of the changes it wanted were outrageous--violated verb-subject agreement, made for awkward sentences, etc. Granted, it caught some extra spaces and a few typos, but mostly it was a waste of time. Then I read that the formatting instructions, which I'd followed, should eliminate any need for the tab key. Checked my mss. and it is full of tabs, so I am having to go through line by line--I got four chapters done today and ran out of patience.
Speaking of rule followers, I called my #2 granddaughter yesterday to wish her happy birthday, and she said she was seven, which I thought was right. But on Facebook I found she really turned eight. Her mom explained that she said seven yesterday morning because she didn't officially turn eight until 3:20 p.m. Talk about a rule follower!
Ran out to Jordan's tonight for a glass of wine with them, a friend who's visiting, and a friend who's staying with them, all people I like a lot. Jacob greeted me with a shout, which gladdened my heart. Sitting on the patio chatting, I really wanted to stay for dinner because I was enjoying the company. But I hate driving home after dark. Daylight savings can't come too quickly for me.

The Cowtown Marathon

Today was the annual Cowtown Marathon in Fort Worth, an event that inevitably brings back memories, most of them good. Jordan ran/walked the 10K this morning and did it in good time. I was surprised by how quickly she was on Facebook reporting that she was eating at a local bakery/cafe. Christian later told me she beat her friends and wasn't winded. So good for her. She's the only one of my children to do the Cowtown, though I keep hoping Jamie, the triathlete in the family and the only one to inherit his father's competitive spirit, will do it one year. After all, it is an event with family ties.
As my late friend Charles used to tell people, the Cowtown began in my living room. A group of fitness-minded friends from what was then the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine (now UNT Health Sciences Center) met in our living room to discuss the planned Institute for Human Fitness (now, sadly, long gone) and specifically the marathon (now grown dramatically beyond their original conception). A good friend, Ann, was living with us at the time, and she and I used to conspire to make the most outrageous, richest desserts we could for these men. They ate every bite and never blinked--so much for fitness.
Needless to say, my ex-husband was one of the founders of the race. I can still see him, sitting in the office part of our bedroom the night before the race, saying, "Sleet! I don't want sleet." But sleet, slippery streets and cold weather were what he got that first year, sometime in the mid-to-late '70s. I was doing some of the publicity for the event, so I bundled all the children up and set out for the North Side on those slippery streets--something I wouldn't do today. What appalls me, as many have heard me say, is that I turned my children loose on the North Side (I don't think Jordan was even five yet) all day. They'd check in occasionally but I really had no clue where they were. All I can say is it was different times. Jamie assures me they were always with a pack of kids, they looked after Jordan and all was well. After Joel and I divorced in 1982, I worked at the marathon one or two more years, just to prove I could, but it wasn't as much fun. In later years I went to the carb-loading spaghetti supper with Charles who was still a marathoner into his seventies and maybe even eighties. It hasn't been too many years since he did the 10K. It was good to see old friends at those dinners, but I didn't fit. I had moved on to new worlds.
Actually I am proud that we had a part in bringing this event to the city. It grew beyond the original vision rather rapidly. The first year it was a one-day event with probably under a thousand runners. This year, it's billed as a three-day event--5K and 10K today, actual marathon tomorrow, and I guess seminars and carbo-loading yesterday. They expected over 20,000 runners.Today was a good day to run--sunny, in the 50s in the morning. By afternnon it was hot, and tomorrow will I fear be hotter than marathoners like.
I don't mean to say that my sons have never run a race. They both ran in a short (5K?) A. T. Still Memorial Race one year. Joel had left for the race long before daylight; I got the children up, and like a good mother fed them breakfast--eggs and I don't remember what else. The result was that Colin had to stop and throw up. But they all three won medals--Jamie for being the youngest, Colin for being the most persistent, and I don't remember what Joel's was for. In a classic case of gender discrimination, the girls and I watched from the finish line. When we split our belongings, I gave the framed medals to Joel.
In spite of that split, the marathon brings good memories of happy times--not happier than today, but happy in their own way.

Marathons and Scotsmen in kilts

Today was the 31st annual Cowtown Marathon, which I heard on the radio is one of the largest mutli-race events in the country (that means they have the marathon, a half-marathon, a 10K, and various other assorted races for kids, etc.) What is means to us in Southwest Fort Worth is that it messes up traffic. I got away relatively lightly--slid down a back road on my way to Central Market only to discover that for two blocks it was part of the race. Cops let me go through with a caution to go slowly,which I did. But I could see that I couldn't come home that way (road was blocked going the other way) and University Drive, the main thoroughfare I was avoiding, was a parking lot. Coming home, I cut through a shopping "village," and then on to University, just after the point where the runners were crossing. A policeman waved me through, and it was smooth sailing. Jeannie, though, said she was trying to go home from Hulen and went on so many side streets, she doesn't even remember where she was.
The Cowtown is more than a nuisance to me--it's a sentimental trip back in time. In the late 70s, a group of doctors, physiologists, and who knows what used to meet in my living room to talk about establishing an Institute of Human Fitness, promoting a healthy way of life, and running (my ex was a big runner--but that's another, not always-happy story). At the time a friend was living with us, and she and I would be in the kitchen, making the richest, fanciest desserts we could imagine--I particularly remember Ann's Italian cream cake. Those health and fitness freaks would scarf it down! But it's always fun to say the marathon began in my living  room.
I called my friend Charles this morning to reminisce, and he verified the origins. The first T-shirts had a runner named Cowtown Charlie, which was, of course, Charles--though my ex liked to think because of the mustache it was him. I still have one of the T-shirts, tucked away somewhere. The first marathon was in 1979, and Charles and I talked a bit about those days. Colin would have been ten, Jordan just four,and I am amazed to think that while I worked publicity for the event (I loved being in the midst of things), I let them wander the area around the North Side Coliseum, where among other threats there is a river. What was I thinking? I wouldn't let me grandkids do that today for all the tea in China. But the kids loved the day--and so did I. The first year the weather was all sleet and snow (I won't repeat what Joel said when he heard the sleet hit our roof) but he left early and I drove the kids up there in that weather in an old Cadillac I was then driving. Amazing! I told Charles it made me nostlagic, and he admitted to the same feeling but reminded me, "What's done is done"and I added  "and certainly for the better."
On the way home, having successfully avoided the traffic jams, I cut through Forest Park and came upon a groups of Scots, in kilts, practicing I don't know what but it looked like something for the Highland games. I couldn't stop and gawk, much as I wanted to, but one glimpse reinforced my belief that there is nothing sexier than a Scotsman in his kilts. The only thing missing was a bagpiper.Thrilled my Scottish blood.
Spent the rest of the day mired in the manuscript I'm editing, Trash History: Discoveries of an Accidental Historian. It mostly has to do with Civil War, Custer, Bonnie and Clyde, and the Alamo, but it is a charming fun book and an especially illuminating look into re-enactments. Note to non-fiction authors: avoid those blasted embedded notes. They're driving me crazy! I'll finish it tomorrow and email everthing to the editor at Texas Tech Press. Note to most readers: buy this book when it comes out next fall. It's really fun!