!

yesterday me and my bike set out in the early morning cold -- I could see my breath! -- and went on a bike adventure to salem. the cloudy weather they had predicted never materialized, which I was grateful for; those first 8 or 10 miles before the sun came up were cold, particularly without the benefit of bike gloves. but the sun came up and the temperature was perfect, and everything I needed was stuffed into the pockets of my jersey. I opted for the scenic route, ten miles longer than the more direct way, cutting west for awhile to travel along the willamette valley scenic bikeway: back roads littered with orchards and vineyards and two tractors tilling the earth, dirt clouds I rode through happily, glad to be able to smell the land. 66 miles from portland to salem, where I was greeted with beers and ice cream and a couple of happy dogs.

this is the last week of my summer. this week I've processed chickens at my friends' farm, I've skipped stones on the willamette, I've eaten candy, I've ridden my bike, I've cleaned stalls at the barn. I've read my book. I've hung out with my favorite person (twice). I've woken before dawn (twice). it's easy to spin everything as lovely, but in truth I've also been restive and bored and lonely, itchy and yearning in ways that I find difficult to articulate, even to myself. they are feelings that I suspect I should probably sit with, listen to, but I find myself avoiding them instead. one recent morning I lay in bed thinking, I wish I could travel more, I wish I could just up and go away for the weekend, I wish I led that kind of life, and then I got mad at myself, because if there's anything I've learned in the last year, it's that you're never stuck. you're only as stuck as you think you are.

although I let it pass without mentioning it to anyone, a year ago yesterday this happened. it took me months to pick up the pieces. I wasn't sure I wanted to acknowledge it at all, because JESUS, I've talked about it enough. I don't want to give the mistaken impression that I have any lingering regrets or pain or sadness. I don't. that ship sailed long ago, and good riddance. but this morning, I was standing in the sun-soaked barn, cleaning a stall, thinking of my one-year-ago self, and feeling a great deal of compassion for her. she thought she was stuck; she thought nothing would ever get better.

she came such a long way to get here. here, there might be transient boredom and worry, but there is also so much sunshine, adventure, playfulness, humor, resilience, courage, gratitude, love.

the day of rest

we had a nice christmas. as usual I was awoken by my siblings at an ungodly 6:15 am, made coffee, admired the tableau of presents under the tree, opened said presents, donned all my new clothes at once (fuzzy socks, new sweater, the all-important fancy new compression running tights), and went out to play ball with our black lab, max, who gets a few new fetch toys in his stocking each year.


(the backyard)

after the morning's festivities there was french toast to make, and wrapping paper to clean up; the dining room table to set; toys to momentarily play with before company arrived. (we had particular fun with the remote control sumo wrestlers). then my aunt & uncle and cousins got here. there was eating, and more presents, and some sipping of ridiculous, insanely expensive, moderately good coffee. there was some dreamy browsing online for a pair of tall riding boots, subsidized by a christmas gift card. there were kids running around yelling excitedly.

there were, as always, chickens.


(chuck, charlotte, & peepers)

the rooster, by the way, has honed his intimidating death stare.





and had not crowed much in a few weeks, but did rise to the occasion when I threatened him by wearing a puffy white coat, flapping my wings, and strutting around with my beautiful red comb:



we ate dinner at my grandmother's, fourteen of us at a table crammed so tightly into her small living room that in order to get up from our chairs, we had to climb over furniture. there was pie. and ice cream. pretty much I'll probably never eat again after the last four days.

today was much more of the same: a morning spent in blankets on the couch, then a trip to western maryland to see my aunt, uncle, and cousins, whom I was very close to as a child and whom I hadn't seen in a year. we watched football, ate too much lasagna, and probably scared my cousin's new girlfriend. the next generation, ages 2 to 13, ran through the house with various toys. this is the holiday for me: messy and loud, with too much eating; lots of reminiscing, teasing each other about stories from our past. we have an ever increasing number of small children in the house, and the kids' table, once ours, gets filled with other faces. there's a lot of coffee, and everyone's tired, and on lucky years, it's snowing just enough to be pretty but not enough to be meddlesome. by the end, you're overstuffed and you've laughed too hard and you probably need a nap.

yesterday -- christmas day -- was day 101. I ran a mile and a half in my new tights. today is my first day off since september 15. if I really wanted, I still have 40 minutes to get in a run, but I'm forcing myself to stop. this, then, is where the streak ends. and I am sad. tomorrow once again is day one.

merry christmas, everyone.

100.

These journeys are quiet. They mark my days with adventure
too precious for anyone else to share, little gems
of darkness, the world going by, and my breath, and the road.

-- from run before dawn, william stafford

shout out

today is Cristina's birthday !


Cristina shows up on this little blog a lot.


Of course, that's partially because she is my roommate.


Also, we work together.


But of course, I work with a lot of people, and plenty of people have roommates they never hang out with.


Cristina started working at the opera at the beginning of our 2008-2009 season.


A few weeks after that, I wrote in my journal, "I think Cristina and I are going to be fast friends."


Totally, totally right.


Let me tell you about her. She is awesome. She will drive you to the airport at 4 in the morning. She will make the coffee in the morning. She is up for a late night drive to the food carts. She even makes a good hangover buddy.


She's pretty. She lets me borrow her clothes sometimes. She listens to me even when I'm chatty. (Which is all the time).

We are celebrating her birthday in style today. I can't tell you the details because it's (sort of) a surprise.



love you, lady. I'm so glad to know you!