The Gateway Month

September used to be boring.  Once Labor Day had passed, it was just the hot, dusty month that fell after school had started but before the fun of Halloween. Hot enough to feel like Summer but with none of the perks. Annoying.

But now, September and I get along just fine. Early September is pragmatic.  It sweats but doesn't apologize. It has work to do.  But, with the first cool day, the first morning that makes me regret not grabbing a jacket on my way out the door, I shiver with anticipation because Late September is a gateway drug. I look forward to it like an addict eyeing a needle as the calendar and temperature slide downward to the blessed release of Fall.

Soon I will reach for long sleeved shirts and an extra blanket.  Soon I will open windows in the evening and wake up in a house that is 67 degrees. Soon, my breath will rattle with the leaves as cold air fills my lungs and makes me cough and feel alive.

9/11/14

While reflection and introspection are good at any point, it can be especially meaningful on days like today. Through reflection we can examine who we are and compare it to our past as well as to the future self we desire. The events of 9/11/01 were horrific, but they were also the catalyst for an amazing unification of the American People. I had never before in my life witnessed such an unwavering dedication to a common goal and identity. Heroes rushed in, taking action, without thought of self or difference of opinion. And while I value the difference of opinion and individuality that create our rich and dynamic society, I could do without the rancor and bickering that so often take place. I hope that as we, the American People, remember this day, we look back, not only to 9/11 and the heroes of that day, but also to the ideals upon which our nation was founded, and take stock of our current self. We are, no doubt, flawed individuals, but this nation was built upon the highest of ideals. Ideals which are carved in stone monuments in our nation's capital and hopefully, held just as solidly in our hearts. And while it may be a sad truth that we cannot escape the flaw of the individual, if we keep our eyes on these ideals, we will still remain a great nation.

Denver

They weren't lying about the sunshine.  I wake up around 6 am, when a five gallon bucket of sunshine is dumped on my face.  It's Denver, coming at me full force, delivering this untimely gift.

Here is some SUNSHINE!  For YOU!  It might be more than you need right now, but we just couldn't wait any longer!  Go out and do something fun with it!!

And even though I kept my eyes shut, it slipped in through slivered eyelid cracks, refusing to be ignored. So I sat up.

I didn't know it at the time, but Denver, and the entire state of Colorado, had made plans to repeat this routine for the duration of my stay.  It was brutal.  I made a few half-hearted attempts at being grumpy about it but I was too tired even for that.  So I went with it, promising myself good and plentiful naps once safely back in Kansas.

If I ever have a cooking show...

... I'm calling it the Sans Pants Sous Chef.

And will only feature foods made in an over sized glass measuring cup in a microwave.

Check your local listings.

(This post has nothing to do with how my evening meal was prepared.  The blinds were drawn. The neighbors know nothing.)

Standards Schmandards

I usually wrap presents in newspaper.  I don't have any this year, so I thought I'd join the cool kids (aka Martha Stewart and the other Pinterest Perfect ladies) and use brown craft paper instead.  

Horrible idea. 

Either they never told me, or I  missed the memo that regular tape does not stick and will not work.  Unless the idea is to have the presents open themselves... (newsflash: this is NOT the idea).  One present in, and I was working myself towards a drinking problem.  Instead, I lowered my standards. And by "lowered my standards" I really mean, "they fell off a cliff." Layers of tape upon tape and some excessive ribbon will have to do the trick.  They'll look ok... if you don't look close.

Band-Aids and Declarations

I was running today and somehow, about 8 miles in, my brain started thinking about band-aids and the purpose they serve in life.  You put a band-aid on something to protect it, to shield it, so it can heal.  Generally we reserve band-aids for open wounds, cuts, and the like. Things that need to be held together and sealed off.  But why not put band-aids on everything?  Bruises, jammed fingers, broken hearts - why not put a band-aid on them as well?  Maybe the scientific purposes of band-aids don't really speak to the type of healing required for all wounds, but band-aids serve another purpose as well. They are a declaration, an advertisement to everyone else, that hey, this part of me hurts.  This part is broken, be gentle or, perhaps just avoid this area all together for awhile until it has healed. The band-aid, like stick figures on restroom doors is a pretty recognizable symbol.  It can garner sympathy and kindness in strangers.  It gives them a point of reference, an opening to ask - what did you do? And you can explain your particular malady and they can nod in agreement if they've faced similar wounds.  Or maybe they'll be dumbstruck, shocked you've come through such a horrific trauma.  Talking about it helps, changes the nature of the event from something current, to something past. When strangers ask you about it, you can tell them what happened, tell them how things have progressed since then, tell them how much recovery time is still needed.  After awhile, though, it becomes time to take the band-aid off.  As a kid, I feared this, hated it. Removing the band-aid hurt.  But the removal is an important and necessary part of moving on.  Just as putting the band-aid on is a declaration, so too is the removal.  There may be a scar left behind, there may be adhesive residue lingering around the edges.  But the band-aid is gone, and so is the wound.  The healing is complete.

Hothouse Baby

I love a no watch, no route, slow Saturday run.  And when iPod shuffle drops a little somethin' somethin' from Hothouse Stomp in my ears, I love the way my gait automatically switches gears into fat and sassy mode.  I mean, it's "The music of 1920s Chicago and Harlem" - you can't fight that! As I grin through chapped lips, I can't be bothered to care about how embarrassingly far away I am from my "Key West Physical Fitness" goals.  I'm going to be there hanging with my favorite lil lady, Baby Avery, and fat and sassy is just the way we like to roll.