I’m at home today. I’ve got a bogged down mind. I spent the better part of the wee hours wide away. Possibly, the reason for my insomnia was from the non-drowsy cough medicine I took. Whatever the reason, I woke up this morning not ready for the world. My throat was so sore, my stomach hurt, and my head has been throbbing.
During the day, I began on a project that’s been patiently waiting for me: My Mom’s Christmas present. Yes, that is her Christmas present for 2005. I know it is way past Christmas, but my family isn’t gathering until later this month so I’ve felt like its okay.
The fabric has been staring at me from the top of my grandma’s old hope chest in my family room. Neatly stacked pieces of shirts, pants, and memories sat and waited patiently for me to gain the courage to work with them. Just before Christmas, I had met with my Mother and carefully chosen just the right pieces of my step-dad’s clothing. I’m going to make her a patchwork quilt so that she can hold him close to her whenever she misses him. I think there may even be enough fabric for a small lap quilt, or pillow, for me as well. But when could I do it? It’s not so much the time as it is my emotions. It has been months since he died and I am feeling so much stronger now. I guess I am enjoying the not crying. They called to me, last night, as I lie in bed wide awake.
There are other things on my mind too but I’m not ready to go into them.
I started with the cutting of the fabric. I found that even though Papa’s smell seemed to have left the clothing, when the iron heated up the fabric the smell came back alive. It filled the room as tears filled my eyes.
The center piece of each square is from a Hawaiian style shirt that he wore often. The print from this center piece is delicate leaves and flowers with browns, blues, with hints of red-orange and turquoise. The log cabin style quilt comes together with pieces of beige, brown, and two shades of navy obtained from shirts and dress slacks. The quilt is only a patchwork in the sense that it brings patches from my step-dad’s life filled with simplicity and softness. This is exactly what I hope that it will bring to my Mom.
In the meantime, my throat still hurts, my stomach aches, and my head is still bogged down….oh, and I haven’t run. Well, there’s always tomorrow….
YaYa puts on his baseball helmet, grabs his bat and enters the batting cage. He’s so excited to be there that he doesn’t even take his jacket off. Right away, he begins hitting all the stray yellow balls back toward the machines. He’s got a lot of enthusiasm for baseball. He gives it 100% effort.
Today was baseball practice after school. We are now at the cages as YaYa’s older brother has pitching lessons. So YaYa gets some extra batting practice. He’s taken in his new coach’s instructions well. He is putting the steps into action. At first he misses. His swing is late, too high, too low and then…just right. Wham! He hits the ball. He hits the next, and next, and next. Now he’s on a roll and the smile on his face shows his pride.
I am the proud Mother, who looks through the chain link and offers as much encouraging words as I can. “I know you can do it,” I say. And then he does.
I began today’s spin cycle workout nice and easy. While listening to a book on tape, via my iPod, I sat and spun away. I had an hour long cross-training workout in mind. My legs have recovered nicely from yesterday’s race, but there remains a bit of an ache to my low back. As I listened, I found myself smiling, laughing, and feeling sad as the story played out. Then the story began to head in a different direction. The kisses were getting more passionate and I began to wonder just how far the couple was going to take it. I hoped that the narrator wouldn’t describe all of the juicy details; I was in my work gym for goodness sake. I didn’t want to find out. I quickly switched my iPod to my favorite playlist and in doing so I intensified my workout three-fold.
I cranked up the resistance and came off the seat for a steady, sustained, standing climb. I stayed in the climb for three songs, sat down to get a drink of water, and resumed the climb. For the entire spin I thought of what it meant to be focused. I reminded myself that each workout is for a purpose, and the only way that I assure my BQ is to be focused in each of my workouts from now until June 17th. By the time I exited the bike, I was so sweat soaked that you would have thought that someone had poured a cooler of Gatorade over my head (as they had done post Superbowl win). I showered, dressed, and then ruined it all with a chicken sandwich and fries.
Having a weekend rest day can only mean one thing…house cleaning. Since last weekend I figured that the bathrooms could wait, it was the natural starting point today.
Did I mention that I am the only female in a house full of testosterone? The male gender might be known for their ability to aim when hunting, or shooting the basketball are involved, but not when it comes to getting their urine into the toilet. I hate cleaning toilets for this very reason. Two weeks worth of 3-point attempts gone awry has its implications.
As I begin this, much needed task I can’t help but think of the porta-potties provided at the races. I have a half-marathon that I am running tomorrow and as much as I appreciate having a place to empty my bladder, I hate the porta-potties. First, you wait in excessively long lines to use them. When you finally get in one you cover your nose and attempt to relax enough to get the job done and exit just as quickly as possible. The mixture of chemicals and bodily fluids is disgusting. I appreciate my own bathrooms, even at their dirtiest, on race day.
As I clean my house, I listen to The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants audio book on my iPod. I’m embarrassed to admit that of all of the books I could have downloaded, this is the one I chose. I love the narrator’s descriptive voice and I enjoy listening to the totally female view of their experiences ~ even if the characters are only teenagers. Listening to the story brings me back to the time when I was younger, but more so, it makes me glad that I had boys (bathrooms and all).