Posts by Peggy
Random thoughts running a Colorado trail
Coloradoans are dead serious about their trails — they aren’t finished until they are paved with concrete and gravel shoulders from one town to the next, lined with split rail fence, dotted with trailheads along the way, and outfitted with all the supplies needed to pick up after your dog. (Though few do.) Texas flora = prickly jungle preferred by spiders, snakes, and biting bugs, i.e., not the Great American Desert depicted in your fourth grade textbook. Colorado flora = the desert depicted in your fourth grade textbook. Lungs breathe shallow and rapid, yet you are not breathless. Rabbits and coyotes run from you, but the prairie dogs stand up and squeak “high five” as you go by. Running with your 21-year-old son gets you some odd looks (trainer? body guard?). When you are all grown up, your dad can drive you to the edge of town and you can run back to the house without having any emotional duress.
What little girls are made of (reprise)
The adorable photo of the girl in the jumper comes from the Women and Girls Lead Facebook page and has been pinned around cyberspace. I saw it on the page of a comrade in single motherhood. It made me think back when Paige was in kindergarten and first grade and she went after school to the community dance program at Texas Woman’s University. For a while, she learned ballet, then she tried another dance class that mixed up the styles a little more.
You could see, even then, that she was a talented dancer, but she tired of it. I didn’t make a fuss.
If she thought of dance during the rest of elementary or middle school, I didn’t know it. For all I knew then, dance had only been an early childhood interest. But when the high school marching band added a color guard, she was all in, not just with the flags, but the dancing, too. Such a personality she had during performances!
Sam’s younger years were a gift to his siblings in some ways. We were trying so hard to get Sam to “average,” we didn’t fall into those traps that so many anxious parents fall into with their kids and their extra-curriculars. Michael and Paige tried out lots of different things: music, sports, leadership, theatre, and 4-H.
And that was a beautiful thing. Paige worked hard with her dancing in high school. Yet, because it was never a chore, never something she did to please anyone but herself, dance will be a lifelong love.
It’s a good thing to remember when you’re sinking $200 into gear or lessons. I never let myself think it was an investment in a future, four-year scholarship. It wasn’t something to distinguish my child from their peers. It was something to allow them to stretch and explore and learn and feel and discover who they really are.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #198
Peggy: So how was work today?
Sam: Good. It was quiet at first, and then all of a sudden — Bam! People needed to get groceries.
Ski Trip Potatoes
Some of the best recipes are wickedly simple. This a nice one for rainy days in Texas, too.
2 potatoes
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt and pepper
Peel and shred the potatoes. Blot dry on two or three paper towels.
Meanwhile, heat 8 inch cast iron skillet on the floor of a 425 degree oven, preferably on top of a pizza stone. When the pan is hot, add the butter and oil, swirling until the butter is melted.
Spread the potatoes. Should be about 1/2 inch thick. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Place in oven and roast until brown on the bottom, about 5-10 minutes. Flip and continue til brown on both sides.
Serve hot.
Meet Psy
Last summer, I got a fat dose of South Korean pop culture when Paige was home from college. I watched a Canadian couple make kimbap on YouTube. One day she showed me a rap star. His earnestness made me smile. The music was not of his continent, but he made it his own with a sense of humor, but straight — like the local band that was the rage when I was in college, Brave Combo.
When the rapper made a cameo on the season premiere of Saturday Night Live, I texted Paige to ask her if it was the same guy. Yes, she texted back, that’s Psy. When I told the newsroom about it Monday morning, I got called a hipster.
Hardly. I was born a dork and I cannot escape it. On trail runs, I’m the durable socks and comfortable shoes to RunnerSusan’s body glide and marathon runner kitten sex.
Yes, I know the first rule of being a hipster is not talking about being a hipster.
I keep my cool and act like a boring, responsible adult, but it’s fun re-living college life vicariously through the kids, especially this latest round of new ideas and new experiences.
My dork-ness was at its zenith, of course, when the kids were in high school. While Sam’s pursuit of an associate’s degree in computer information and technology has inspired a whole new arena of dork-ery for me, the perception of my dork-ness has changed a little with the kids. Michael got me wearing Ray-bans and Sperrys and using an iPhone.
My job has cool factor that many other kids’ parents’ jobs don’t. Someday I’ll break it to them. It’s cool to be a reporter, but it works best when you’re like Forrest Gump and keep falling into history, wearing durable socks and comfortable shoes and carrying a pocketful of pens.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #197
Sam (on the way home from Saturday afternoon Mass and shopping): Did you enjoy today? It was a good day.
Peggy: Yes. It was a good day.
When running is flying
This morning’s run on the Durham Trail, at Lake Grapevine, was exceptionally pretty. Blue skies and cool air. (Yes, I know, the heat and the ozone comes later.) Snow-on-the-prairie, purple gayfeather and thistles in bloom. Ruby red tunas on the prickly pear. Some underbrush had grown so high I felt like a hobbit. Susan thought she saw a deer in a thicket down in a draw — probably, since we had nearly run into a deer in that draw before.
I spend a lot of time on a trail run just making sure I put one foot smoothly in front of the other. If I don’t, my right foot hits the left inside ankle enough that it’s bloodied at the end. Same motivation in watching for roots or rocks — or snakes.
But there are times I stop looking at my feet to take in the big views and admire the quiet beauty. Sometimes I wonder if other people see Texas as they should.
Where I’ve lived before, the beauty can be in-your-face — the mountain vistas in Colorado, the rich fall colors in Wisconsin, and the emerald hills and sunny poppies of northern California.
We don’t have that here. But we have this (pictures taken by RunnerSusan):
Overheard in the Wolfe House #196
Peggy: The tractor is fixed, finally. Want to mow a little today?
Sam: It’s gonna get hot today.
Peggy: How about tonight?
Sam: Tonight’s a football game, Mom.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #195
Sam: Did you remember that music I was playing last night?
Peggy: No.
Sam: Oh, I thought you did.
Peggy: Should I remember?
Sam: It was from Super Mario, Nintendo 64 version. Remember?
Peggy: No. I only remember that you played that game a lot. Did you pick the music out and write it, or did you download it?
Sam: I found it on YouTube. It would always sound like it was going up. Like the stairs at the end of the game. They went up and up and up. Do you remember that?
Peggy: No.
Sam: They had to work the repeat so that the music always sounded like it was going up. (pauses) It took a bunch of us to beat Bowzer at the end.
Peggy: Really? Who all helped?
Sam: Michael, and other people — and Dad.
Peggy: Wow.
Four weddings and a long ago funeral
Tonight was the fourth wedding I’ve attended since Mark died. The first wedding came about eight months after, and I was a wreck.
On your own wedding day, part of your heart opens up and it just gets bigger and bigger until your beloved isn’t there anymore.
Oh, mercy, that expansive, empty space hurts on another couple’s wedding day, no matter how happy you are for them.
When I first saw the date on the invitation, the night before Mark’s birthday, I wondered. But it’s also been nearly five years. Tonight, as we were waiting for the bridal procession, I heard the violinist begin the first few phrases of Ashokan Farewell — one of Mark’s favorites. My eyes couldn’t focus, and I could feel my knees and my heart giving way, but then the string ensemble transitioned to another tune.
Then, I told myself that little bit of music was just Mark’s way of winking and letting us know that they were all there …
Congratulations, Megan and Brandon!