A New Piece at the Register

Hello, I know I've been a bit awol in the writing/publishing department. I've written lots of drafts that are sitting in the...I can't quite bring myself to destroy you darlings, but no one else should read this pile.   Here's today's piece over at the National Catholic Register, it's appropriate to have this one, inspired by witnessing my son's race at State. 

You Win the Race When You're In It to the End.

Ten Signs You Live with a Cross Country Runner

10) He has more pairs of shoes than you do.

9) You always cook two dinners.  One for the non running crew, and one for the runner.

8) We are always out of bananas.

7) No one save the runner may take the last water bottle under pain of death.

6) The mail man understands when he drops off the mail and there is a dish that once contained oatmeal and a spoon, that we aren't mailing away our dirty dishes.  It's just, he was running late to catch the bus and ate on the fly.  

5) You don't ask where the protein bars went.  Or the yogurts, or the chocolate milks.  You know.

4) His wardrobe consists of running clothes and one pair of jeans for when he has to dress formally.

3) He will do the dishes and babysit for chocolate milk and pasta.

2) The speed at which he can run is inverse to the speed at which he gets ready for anything where he is not running.  

1) The weather is irrelevant to the runner.  The time of day is irrelevant to the runner.  The amount of distance he will run, is also irrelevant.  You, as mother, and not a runner, will understand none of this, you must merely accept, he's going to run.

Getting Back Up and Run

Back in 8th grade, I ran track and even competed in a 3/4th of a mile race. To people like my son, such a short distance seems ridiculous, but for me at the time (and even now), it seemed epic.  Midway through the race the first time I raced, I lay down.   I'd run faster than I ever had before and everyone had lapped me and it all seemed so pointless.  I wouldn't win.  What would it matter if I just walked off the field?

But I remember catching my breath and thinking, it would matter to me.   I've run this far, I'll see it through.  That sort of stubborn this is my hill and these are my beans mentality has seen me through a lot of things, not the least of which is having and trying to raise all these people.

The biggest temptation in writing, is to quit.  The second biggest temptation is to restart.  The third biggest temptation is to persist.

I have felt all three temptations to be sure.   I know this week, I felt myself lying down, catching my breath, wondering if there are more words I need to write, more humor to share, more thoughts that just have to spill out onto the page.

My writing schedule includes currently writing for Eat Sleep Write, submitting to the Catholic Standard on a regular basis, writing a weekly column for Catholicmom.com, and trying to crank out a decent thousand words five days a week for the six months writing boot camp.  My son runs long distance.  He hopes to be in a half marathon or a whole one in the next year.  He's a cross country runner.   I'm a cross country writer.

The answer is yes.  I'm sorry the blog has been sort of dull lately.   I'll try to get refocused on giving you slice of life humor and occasional spiritual reflection, rather than just links to where I've recently been published.  

For those who don't know, I finished the race. I came in fifth. Granted only five people finished the race, but eight started it.   I still have the yellow ribbon.   Whenever I feel winded and like stopping something I started, I look at it, take a deep breath and get back to work.  

My Brother Runs for Our Dad, and For Us

My younger brother runs in marathons and teaches high school English. This is the brother that almost lost everything in a fire, but his dog was saved, as were many important sentimental things, and the rest has been replaced.  For the second year, he is running to help raise money to address/cure Alzheimer's.  Our Dad suffers from it. But Dad is still Dad. 

And as my mother wrote:  He is still funny. He puts on a great show for visitors...when the nurse was here yesterday, he brought a book to the table that he had once read...on Plato and Aristotle.   (I was sure the nurse was going to dismiss us, when she saw what he was reading). But she also saw through all that. I think it was his way of saying, I did not always have this disease. I once was a brilliant man, and could remember everything.  

My fundraising goal: $350.00
My fundraising progress: $390.00

This past Christmas, my father proved that Alzheimer's hasn't taken everything. While most of his sentences falter after the 7th or 8th word, my mother and I were amazed by his sudden recollection of the first 18 lines of Geoffrey Chaucer's prologue to the Canterbury Tales. ...There aren't many of my students who can do that after three weeks of memorization and study.

Still, my family knows first hand that Alzheimer's worsens over time. A progressive disease, the symptoms only increase. In the earliest stages, memory loss is mild. With late-stage Alzheimer's, individuals lose the ability to carry on a conversation and respond to their environment.

According to the Alzheimer's Association website, we have new 2012 stats. Now it says that 5.1 million Americans are currently living with this disease. Of course, this will only increase over the next 20 years rather significantly. Additionally, there are over 10.9 million unpaid caretakers at work with these patients. These are the wives, husbands, children, neighbors, and colleagues who give of their time, talent, and treasure.

So again, I run for my mom, a caretaker of my grandmother and now my father. She's wonderful, I love her, and I want to run in gratitude for her selfless service to our family.

For all those families dealing with Alzheimer's, I run. You are always in my prayers.

For my brother and sisters, my uncles and aunts, my cousins, my nieces and nephews —for all these people who love Dad as much as anyone ever could, I run. (I also miss you all. We need to hang out.)

Finally, I run for Dad.

Peace,

Dan Green

If you see me running by, feel free to scream all words of encouragement you have. Here are some suggestions:

"GO GREEN GO!" (Watch out for saying it too quickly and making it sound like "Go Gringo!" People might find that offensive.)
"Dan the Man"
"Go Badgers!" (Spring Hill)
"Ruined for Life!" (JVC)
"Go St. Thomas!" (Work)
"Yeah Beaumont!" (hometown love)
"Go Pim!" (POWER IN MOTION)
"Sr. Verde!" (for my Spanish speaking friends)
"Look out! There's a mad man behind you! RUUUUUUN!" (just to see what happens).
"Go Mr. Wonderful!" ...It's a new nickname, but I like it.

If you can support his run, the link is here:
http://www.chevronhoustonmarathon.com/Donate/PersonalPage.cfm?MID=8136&CRID=33&CID=295
I lifted the writing from his page and my mom's note.

Marathon Lessons

Back in 8th grade, I wanted a letter to prove I'd made an "A" team more than anything. So desperate was I to achieve this, I even tried out for the one sport my common sense had always told me...you can't do. That's right, Track. But I'm not fast. I'm not tall. I don't jump. So what could a b-team bench warmer do on a track team?

Cross Country.

Now I did make the team and run a 1320 (3/4 of a mile), and I even got a ribbon. I was fifth. The fact that there were five people running doesn't really matter. Before the race, there were more but several quit. On the third lap in, everyone else that had not dropped out had finished. That track felt lonely and quiet and tedious.

I was hot.
I was unhappy.
I lay down.
Deliberately.
I thought about just staying there. (At 13, melodrama is a way of life).

Then, I got up and started moving again and the why fell way as I just kept going.
It wasn't that I signed up that got me a letter from the "A" team. It was that I didn't let myself quit.

So I apologize to all of you that read my "Full Plate" essay. Every word of it was true. (I felt overwhelmed and exhausted and frustrated and all those self absorbed things one feels at 43 that supposedly aren't melodrama because they aren't adolescent). What I needed, was to stop and reassert priorities. But when you feel all those things, it's hard to think, let alone assess.

Three weeks of observing the world dripping with stories that I wasn't writing drove me crazy. Some of those mental photos and turns of phrase would be lost forever. I don't know if such things are agony for anyone else but they haunt me.

So I promise not to flounce.
I promise not to lie down on the track anymore.
I'll finish the race even if I'm stuck running around this track after everyone else has lapped me twice.

What does that mean?

It means I'll be pouring out words for as long as I have access to a computer, but only after I've read to my kids, made sure they've done their homework, bathed, and I've given a bit of time to my husband, the needs of the house and my extended family and friends. I promise to be present in words and deeds.

I'll get fifth for finishing last, and I'll be just as proud of that ribbon as I am of the yellow one that hangs in my office from 1980.

Thanks for coming back.